Hospital Flowers
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: A firefighter has done more than just save Arthur's life. He's giving him a whole new perspective on life.
1. October

I had been driving. That's how this all got started. It wasn't raining, the sun didn't reflect off of another car, and my car was in tip top shape. It was simply an accident. We were on the highway and it was rush hour traffic, bumper to bumper. Typical Los Angeles traffic. The car in front of me stopped, so I stopped. The car behind me must not have seen my braking. They slammed into my back, I lurched forward, and my hood nestled itself completely under the car in front of me. Seeing as we were stuck in gridlock that meant the car in front of me also hit another car. I was wedged between two cars.

My car was a small European import and collapsed under the weight of the minivan pushing into my rear and the SUV crushing into my hood. The engine managed to catch on fire. I was only semi-conscious. I had hit my forehead on the steering wheel airbags that had deployed when I was stuck. But then the force from crashing into the front car knocked my head into the side of the window. I think I broke my nose.

I'm not quite sure what happened. I can recall arms picking me up and someone pulling out of the car. I think they were saying something about my legs, but I couldn't feel anything. There was shouting and cars honking and the warm fall sun beat down causing me to sweat. I groaned out in pain, and then blacked out.

When I came to I was in a hospital. There was a nurse looking over papers which I assumed were the files on my health. She looked up at seeing me awake.

"Oh, Mr. Kirkland. How do you feel?"

My eyes were only slightly parted, but even with my low visibility I could see both of my legs wrapped in a cast up on hanging suspensions. "What… what happened?"

"Both of your legs have had a compound fracture and will need surgery. You should rest," she explained. She came over to peer down at me. "Would you like some ice chips?"

I nodded and she left. I continued to stare at my legs after she had gone. It could've been worse. I'd heard that fractures weren't too serious. My mind, though, just couldn't focus on the fact that I had gotten in such a mess, even if it wasn't my fault. I choked up, thinking back to when the person had pulled me from the car and mentioned my legs. That's why I didn't feel anything. What was there to feel?

The nurse returned just then with the ice chips. She put a small piece in my mouth and proceeded to explain what happened to me. My car had actually caught on fire from the impact on the engine and the hood pressing down on me had been what caused my legs to break. I didn't have a concussion, but a few mild bruises and cuts from the window breaking. My nose wasn't broken, but it did have a nasty purple bruise on it.

"How did I get out of my car?" I asked. "Did someone pull me out?"

"Yes," the nurse replied. "A firefighter did."

I tried to recall if I got a glimpse of the firefighter who had saved me. I wanted to thank him for his heroic efforts. I briefly remembered blue eyes like crystals. His voice sounded young when he mentioned my legs. Other than that, I didn't remember anything.

"Oh!" The nurse turned, startled. "Hello."

In the doorway was a man covered in bulky firefighter gear. The yellow suit stood out against the off-white colored walls around him. There was soot on his nervous face. He played with his hat in his hand. I noticed he had scratches and a few burns on his fingers. His blonde hair was just as dirty as his face and a small cowlick refused to stay flat on his head like the rest. Somehow, it suited him and I wondered if it poked out from under his hat when he wore it.

"Hi. Um, is it okay if I come in?" the man asked.

The nurse smiled and nodded. "Yes. Mr. Kirkland is awake."

The fireman came in, his boots clunking on the tile floor and his gear jingling with every step. He looked comically too big for the small room.

The nurse turned to me. "This is Alfred Jones. He's the man who pulled you from the car."

I nodded and held out a hand. My mind may be a little fuzzy from just waking up, but I did have manners. "Arthur Kirkland. A wonderful pleasure to meet you. I understand you're the reason I'm alive today."

Alfred smiled meekly. He set his hat on the stand by the hospital bed, and then shook my hand. "Yeah, that's me! The hero."

"Ah, modesty. What a strong suit of it you have."

The nurse excused herself just then. Alfred looked around a little anxiously. I wondered what a man like him that charged into burning buildings was so nervous about. I wasn't anyone intimidating. I was a much smaller built man compared to him. I had blonde hair like him, though much brighter. Maybe it was because I was older. Or it could be the horrendous eyebrows; everyone teased me about them despite the fact I pluck them nightly. But then he offered me a bright smile.

"I didn't know you were English. My grandpops will get a hoot out of that."

"Why?" I asked.

"He served during WWII and fought alongside some British soldiers before they were captured. He said that they were the bravest men he had ever met. Always kept a 'stiff upper lip' and they weren't afraid of anything."

"Bravery runs in the family, I see."

Alfred blushed slightly. "I guess, yeah. What about you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is it normal for firefighters to be asking their rescued about their personal lives?"

Alfred flushed a little bit more. My lips twitched at the corners as if I wanted to smile. "Well I like to, but usually I rescue little kids. You're one of the first older people I've saved that I wanna talk to. Do you mind?"

I shook my head. "Not really, no."

Alfred smiled more, relieved. He turned around and pulled a chair to my bedside. Then he took a seat. He glanced at my legs. I looked at them too, but made no motion to speak first. If he was going to ask, then he'd have to do it himself.

Finally, "Does it hurt?"

"No. I can't feel anything."

"Oh." Alfred looked even more relieved. "I thought I was hurting you when I pulled you out. I had to almost rip your legs off. They were under that dashboard pretty good. And I had to do it in a hurry. We were worried the car would explode."

"I find it quite admirable that you ran to my car while on fire and pulled me out," I said. Then, I blushed lightly. "But why me? What happened to the other drivers?"

Alfred scratched the back of his head. "Well, the lady in the minivan that hit you was okay. She was a little shaken up and has some whiplash, but she wasn't bad. The SUV you hit was hardly damaged, even when it hit the other car. That third car was fine too. You were the worst off."

"Oh." I looked down at my lap. "I'm sorry."

"Whu? Huh? Why are you apologizing?"

"I was the only one that needed saving. I should have gotten out of the car." I felt awful. I had put this nice boy in danger. He was certainly younger than me, so it'd be a shame if he were hurt on my account.

"And gone where?" Alfred asked as he waved a hand over my legs. "Hate to tell ya this, but even if you got outta that mess, you'd be in a helluva lot of pain."

I narrowed my eyes at Alfred, irritated. "Your grammar and manner of speaking is atrocious."

Alfred barked out a laugh. "Ya know, I like you. Yer all right."

"Where are you from?" I asked. "Your accent… It's not from here. You certainly don't have that L.A. accent."

"Boston," Alfred replied. "Moved here just a few years back. Still got the ol' accent. You like?"

"Hardly," I replied. Alfred laughed again. He patted my hand. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

"Well I like yours. You sound so pompous. It's awesome."

"Pompous, huh? I've heard that before," I said. I looked out the window sadly.

Alfred then got up. "Well, I should be goin'. I'm sure you've got friends and family and a girl on their way. Musta been a shock ta hear."

I looked at Alfred, not saying anything in reply. I just nodded to his sudden departure. Not many people stayed to talk, so I wasn't surprised to see him leave. We were running out of things to talk about. I was a little sad. I quite liked his accent and thought him cute. But what right did I have to hog a man like that? He was a firefighter and had to run out into the world and save people. I was to sit here and do nothing.

"Thank you Mr. Jones," I started, holding out my hand again.

Alfred took it. "Alfred. Or Al. But not Mr. Jones. I ain't my dad."

"Fine. Thank you Alfred, for saving me."

He winked as he released my hand. "Anytime."

No one came. I knew this. Who would have come? My boss? My co-workers? I didn't have any of those. Not to say I wasn't employed, but it was more I was a lowly author. The only person who would come would be my editor, but only to ask if my deadline had been met. I would ask her to bring me my laptop so I could finish my work in the hospital until my body was ready for surgery, but she didn't come. The nurse was my only social link, but mainly it was check-ups and I had to sign papers in order to let them do surgery on my legs the following day as well as CT scans. But this meant I couldn't eat or drink until tomorrow.

During my time I busied myself with crossword puzzles that some nurse was kind enough to bring to me. That first night was rough. I couldn't sleep well on just my back. I was used to sleeping on my side. Not only that, but the bed was bloody uncomfortable. I shifted once and felt a sting of sheer pain screech through my entire body. I froze, refusing to scream, and waited until the pain subsided. I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

By morning I had asked the nurse when I was to have my surgery. She said that the doctor was arranging to have it done shortly. She told me that visiting hours were soon, so that I should be excited to see my friends and family visiting. I hated that.

Why can't people understand that sometimes there are people in this world that are alone, that doesn't have friends, that has families that don't want them around? And then these happy people have to go around and remind us that we're alone. It's damn irritating, to say the least. Sometimes people want to be alone.

As I was about to give my smart retort, someone knocked on the door. The nurse moved aside with a smile as Alfred walked into the room. My mouth fell open as I gawked at him.

"Wh-what're you doing here?" I asked. "Surely you have work."

But Alfred wasn't in his firefighter outfit. He was wearing just a sweatshirt with a design of the L.A. fire department and his station number with worn jeans. I couldn't help but admire how he made those jeans look good and tight.

He took a seat next to me again, this time more relaxed. "Nope! I work later tonight. I thought I'd check in and see how you were doing."

"I'm just fine," I lied. It's best to not let him know of my tiring night.

Alfred nodded with a smile. Then he looked around and noticed something that made him frown. "Hey… Where are the flowers an' get-well cards?"

I shrugged. "You kind of don't get any when you don't have any friends."

"Oh." Alfred looked down at his fingers nervously, trying to think of something to say again. It was the usual reaction someone had when I told them of what a loner I was. I didn't even want to mention my family, or lack thereof.

Suddenly, Alfred stood. "Hang on a sec."

I watched as Alfred left. He must've gotten bored of me again. Considering I was a boring guy, and looking at my pathetic legs, it made sense why he left. I'd leave too, if I could walk. Still I was rather disappointed he had left. For the briefest of moments I had truly thought he was unique and wanted to spend time with me. Seeing him rush out so quickly only made the pit of my stomach fall out.

Oh. Well.

Within ten minutes, before my despair could come back, a wall of purple and blue flowers in a white vase squeezed in through the doorway. I gasped in surprise. Alfred set them down next to my bed. I stared at them, hesitant to touch such beautifully arranged flowers. Then I looked to Alfred to answers.

"What's this?"

"Flowers!" Alfred exclaimed cheerfully. Then he looked at me curiously. "Is your head okay? Don't you know flowers?"

I blushed, embarrassed. "Yes, of course. Don't be stupid."

Alfred laughed. He then held out a card for me. "I got ya this too."

"A card?" I took it with a shake of my head.

The cover was of a cartoon cat bringing an injured cat a dead mouse. I opened it up. In childish writing it said, "Maybe a gift will cheer you up. Get well soon." Then Alfred had scribbled his name down at the bottom complete with what looked like a blob with eyes. I pointed at the blob.

"What is that?"

Alfred smirked proudly, taking his seat. "My friend said that's my alter-ego. It's a mochi."

"Whatever that means…," I mumbled. I closed it and set it beside my flowers. I smiled pleasantly at Alfred. "Thank you for the gifts. They are a lovely color to this room."

"No probs. Say," Alfred scooted his chair forward and leaned in. "Why did you move here? I mean, L.A.'s great an' all, Boston's better, but why change countries? That musta been hard fer ya."

I nodded. "It was at first, but I had been given a job out here. I was an assistant for an editing company."

"Change countries for an assistant job?" Alfred seemed confused by such a thing, but then he shrugged. "Work is work, I guess."

"Well, in order to get anywhere in the writing world you have to know people," I started. I laid my hands flat on the bed, looking at them as I remembered my first few years in America. "I had to know the ins and outs of the industry. I wanted to make it. It was hard, yes, but well worth it."

"So you made it?" Alfred asked, excited.

I nodded. "I had my first novel published last year."

"That's amazing!" Alfred exclaimed. He held a hand up, waiting for me to slap it in a high-five. I did not. He put it down with a frown. "Was it bad?"

"It didn't do amazingly, no." I shrugged. "But that's how it goes. We can't all be J.K. Rowling's you know?"

"Do you know her?" Alfred's question was stupid and could have been taken as racist, but instead I laughed. I don't know why. I just laughed until I had to cover my mouth to not disturb anyone else down the hallway.

"No, Alfred. I do not. How would I know her? She's a millionaire."

"Oh." Alfred deflated. "Sorry. I just thought…"

"No, it's okay," I waved him off, still laughing.

"Do you know any writers?" he asked. I shook my head. "So…no one?"

"No. Why do you want to know so badly?" I looked at him. The flowers caught my eye and I smiled.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head. "I never met anyone famous, ya know? I thought it would be kinda cool."

"You don't think it's cool to meet me?" I was joking, but Alfred seemed to take it seriously. English sarcasm was beyond him, I guess. He grabbed my hand, startling me.

"N-no! I do! You're really cool! Honest!"

We both blushed looking at one another. He had gotten so close. But then he released my hand and sat back in his chair. I busied myself with the bed sheet.

"I have surgery soon," I said. I nodded at my legs. "They gotta help align them and put rods alongside my bone."

Alfred wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Ew. That's gross. Well, um, I should let you rest. I'll come back tomorrow."

I gulped, feeling my throat become dry. Had it been like that for awhile? I continued to stare at Alfred, ignoring the fact I was being highly obvious and awkward at the same time. It was strange. This man whom I had never met before in my life wanted to come back and see me. Me? A nobody.

He left before I could stop him. As soon as he was out of my sight I wanted him back. But I knew I shouldn't. He was a firefighter and deserved days off at home, or with friends, or with a girlfriend. Not stuck here in the hospital looking after some invalid like me.

Eventually I was taken in for surgery. I slept the remainder of the day, much better than I had the night before. When I awoke the following morning I found more flowers by my bed and a new card. The flowers were blue this time. I looked at the petals, smiling to myself until I felt my cheeks hurt. It was a silly notion, giving flowers to someone when they were ill or when you liked them. Really, who thought of that?

I reached for the card finding it as silly as the first one. This time it was a burrito that had come undone and a taco saying they should pull themselves together. Inside was Alfred's handwriting again.

Quickly, I put the card back when I heard Alfred enter the room. He smiled. "You're awake."

"Yes," I replied lamely. "You brought me more flowers."

"Yup!"

It was time for us both to be rather dull in our replies. Somehow, this made us both smile at one another. I didn't mind reveling in the fact that I was a dork. It seemed Alfred was too. That sat very nicely in my stomach.

"When I came this morning, you were out cold," Alfred said. He took his usual seat. "Then I realized you probably have nothing to do all day. So I brought ya something to read."

I then noticed Alfred had a brown paper bag sitting by his side. He pulled it to his lap. The bag crinkled loudly in the still hospital room. Finally, Alfred produced a stack of thin magazines. No, wait. Those were comic books.

Alfred held them out to me, but when I didn't take them, he dumped them on my lap. "There! Now you have some of the best books around to keep you company!"

I glanced at them. "Which superheroes did you give me?"

"My favorite." Alfred winked. He hesitated, then said, "All of them!"

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Alfred, I don't know if-"

"Ah, I have to go, actually," Alfred interrupted. He stood up, scraping the chair's legs on the linoleum making me cringe. "Read those and lemme know who your favorite is, okay? I'll bring you more."

"A-Alfred!" I called, managing to stop him before he left the room.

For a moment I almost forgot why I had called. Then, as I saw Alfred standing there, so perfect and healthy, I remembered. He had rushed so carelessly to save me. He had been covered in soot and had burns on his fingers. How easy it could be for him to get hurt. He could wind up in a situation like me; useless and immobile. Just the thought of him lying in a hospital bed unconscious instead of smiling, lighting up the room like the flowers he brought me…

"Be…careful," I said finally. So dry.

Alfred smiled brightly and gave me a thumb up. Then, he was gone.

I wasn't sure why I was suddenly so worried for his health. Looking back on it, it was probably because I had nothing else to do or think about. I was just stuck in that hospital bed, only moving when I had to use the bathroom or to get more X-ray scans. All day long I stared at the flowers Alfred had brought me. I refused to turn on the television. I had already seen the newspaper that showed the entirety of the damage. My car was totaled and it really looked as horrific as it seemed.

The others involved in the accident had been fine, just as Alfred had said, and had even been interviews. I wasn't even mentioned, at least not by name. I was referred to as, "one driver remained in semi-critical condition." I was just a driver, and apparently two broken legs counted for semi-critical condition these days.

I tossed aside the paper in frustration. There was nothing more to do, except read those blasted comic books. Thinking about Alfred, though, only made me feel lonely. Still, it was better than feeling as worthless as I did now. I picked up the top comic and pulled it to me. I pushed the button on the bed to sit me up.

The cover of the book was bright and childish. It was covered in red, white, and blue with the superhero in the middle. I began to laugh, covering my mouth as I did so.

"You have to be kidding me. There's actually a comic about this?" Of course I was talking to no one.

Well maybe I was talking to the flowers.

* * *

><p>Alfred didn't come the next day. I was worried and asked the nurses if there had been any fires recently. They claimed to now know of any recent burn victims coming in, but that didn't mean they didn't go to other hospitals. I turned on the television when I knew the news was on, but still there was nothing. Perhaps he had gotten bored. But he said he'd come back.<p>

Oh stop it, I told myself. This has gone too far. What did you think, that someone actually cared about you? That a man like Alfred actually wanted to see you? It was stupid. I was stupid.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

I looked up to see the familiar face of Alfred. For a moment I almost smiled, but I decided to frown in annoyance instead. "You're late."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. And why are you so quiet?" I asked. I pretended to act cool as I glanced at the chair by my bed in a non-invitational way.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not Alfred."

I looked up in alarm. "Then who are you?"

"I'm Matthew." The man stepped into the room wearing the same firefighter outfit as Alfred had that first day. It looked a little bigger on this Matthew. He also seemed to have his own rebel curl, but different from Alfred's own. They had a similar face, but upon closer inspection I could tell they were different. This man had slightly longer hair and purple-like eyes. "I'm from the same station as him."

My heart caught in my throat. I lurched up in my seat, wincing at the pain in my legs at their sudden movement. "What happened? Is Alfred okay?"

Matthew held up his hands as he moved closer to me. "Yes, he's fine. I just went ahead of him, that's all. He stopped to get you flowers."

Sighing in relief, I lied back against the pillows. "Oh…good. N-not that I was worried about _him_, per say. Ju-just if there was a fire and if people were hurt."

Matthew smiled at me. I didn't like the way he looked at me; as if he knew something was up. I turned away, but then it hit me. Alfred was buying me flowers again. And this man knew about it. Just how much more did he know? Did he know how often visited me? Did he even know who I was?

Slowly I turned to regard this Matthew fellow. "Are you and Alfred's brothers?"

"No. I know we look a lot alike, but we're just childhood friends," Matthew replied.

Just then, Alfred appeared with a fresh bouquet in a new vase. He placed it beside the other two flowers, and then handed me my new Get Well card. I took it with a slight crinkle of my nose. He was so open in front of this stranger. However, judging from the fact he had just claimed they were friends since a young age, there was a good chance he knew quite a lot.

Alfred promptly took his seat with little attention to his friend. He too was in his entire gear like Matthew. "So! Did you read the comics?"

I rolled my eyes. "Unfortunately yes I did."

Matthew pulled up a chair to sit beside Alfred. He raised his eyebrows at my reply. "Wow. I can't believe you would."

"I had to pass the time. I might as well find a way to amuse myself, if only later I could tell Alfred that American writing is rubbish."

"Says the guy who moved to America to become a writer," Alfred quipped. I stared at him challengingly.

"Touché…"

Alfred laughed loudly as he slapped his knee. Then he leaned forward, excited. "C'mon. Tell me! Who was your favorite?"

I hesitated. Should I be honest with him? I didn't want to let him hold something over my head as silly as me liking one of his blasted comic books. But really, just the thought of telling him and seeing that smile widen on my account was a thrilling thought. Also, it would give us something to talk about. He might not leave.

"The top comic…," I mumbled.

Alfred looked at the stack. He pulled the top comic into my hands, and then snorted. "Captain America? REALLY!"

"Honestly, you Yanks are ridiculous to make a superhero about… _Honestly_!" My face was red and I tried to seem as if I didn't like the comic as much as I had, but it wasn't for any reason other than the hero looked like Alfred. All big smiles, big heart, and big muscles. _Big_ muscles. Of course I would never tell Alfred that.

"But you're the one that liked it!" Alfred laughed.

"W-why did you give me an issue in the middle of the storyline? I was lost for awhile there," I said.

"Alfred has the very first issue. His grandfather had it and gave it to him," Matthew explained. "But no one has ever seen it. Even I haven't."

"Huh," I thought. I looked between the two. "Are you sure you two aren't related?"

"Yup!" Alfred replied cheerfully. He looped an arm around Matthew's neck, pulling him close, and grinning at me. "We had our mothers show us the birth certificates and baby pictures to make sure we weren't switched at birth or something, ya know? Besides, Matt's from Canada."

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes… you do have a different accent."

Matthew shrugged Alfred off of him. "I don't have the Bawstohn ahcent."

I laughed at Matthew's rendition of Alfred's accent. He laughed along too, ignoring Alfred's protests of "that's not what I sound like". Alfred tried to pout, but he only seemed to have puffy cheeks like a child. I reached over and poked his cheek, still laughing, until he cracked a smile.

Suddenly, he started coughing and nudged Matthew in the ribs. Matthew yelped in surprise. He looked at Alfred, confused. Alfred continued to cough as he looked at him. He gave a wink, and then realization came over Matthew's eyes.

"Oh!" Matthew stood up. "I will go and get you a drink, Al. Um, yes. I'll be right back!"

He rushed to the door. He was out of sight for just a moment before sticking his head back in. "Oh gee! There doesn't seem to be a vending machine nearby. I guess I have to go really far down. It'll take awhile, so take your time to talk about anything, eh? Anything at all."

Alfred coughed harshly as he turned to Matthew. Matthew left quickly after that. Then, Alfred looked back at me.

I stared at him, unimpressed. "You two are horrible actors."

"What do you mean?" Alfred avoided my eyes, opting to stare at his lap, and then the flowers. "My throat is dry, ya know?"

"What is it you want to talk with me about?" I asked.

I was struck by a sudden fear. Had Alfred realized that I was actually boring and pathetic? Was he leaving? I tried to remain calm, but my inner panic was rising the longer Alfred took to spit out what he was thinking.

"I was…um…" Alfred clenched his eyes closed. He started speaking faster. "Do you think, after you get out that is, we could go on a date?"

I gasped, my eyes widening. Well, that was unexpected. Play it cool, old boy. "Y-you mean like hang-out? Like friends?"

"No…," Alfred replied. He glanced up at me, but hastily looked away again. He was blushing. I had made a firefighter actually blush. "I mean, like a real date."

"How do you know I'm gay?" I asked. How empty, I thought. But it was a valid question. He was being rather bold. We had known each other for three days, and only spoke for a limited amount of time. There was no way he could know.

"Well, you told me you published a book, so I went online to find it," Alfred started.

"You did not!" I blurted out. I was a horrid shade of red.

"Yeah," Alfred continued. He rubbed the back of his head, forgetting there was a helmet there. It tipped backwards and almost fell off of his head. He ripped it off and put it in his lap. "Anyways, I found it, and then there was a biography. Sure enough, I saw it right there. You used to date a French guy?"

"Shut up," I said curtly. "Don't remind me of him."

Alfred held up his hands. "Hey, no prob. I've had my share of foreigner boys too. There was this one Russian and this one Japanese guy. Mmm."

"Please." I held up a hand, looking away with a disgusted face. When Alfred laughed I turned back to him. "So your station is okay with you being…?"

"Hm? Gay? Yeah. I mean, they knew back when I was a volunteer. They didn't mind. None of them are my type anyways. I think that's why they don't worry when we're suitin' up if I'm lookin' or not. I have and…" He gave a shrug to emphasize his feelings.

"And Matthew knows too?"

"Of course. I came out to him. Somehow he knew before I told him. He was there when I told my family."

"Your family knows?"

Alfred nodded. "Yup. They were cool with it. That's the thing with us Jones. We stick together."

I smiled briefly before looking down at my own lap. He was so lucky. So many accepted him. Whereas I had to leave my own country from the sheer rejection of my own family at my coming out. They had hated Francis upon first meeting him. Later they found out he was sleeping with me (awkward incident), and decided they no longer had four sons, just three. England is known for being more accepting, but it doesn't apply to every family. I guess the same could be said for Americans, seeing as I heard the stereotype was that Americans were heavily against homosexuality. Well, score one for my host country.

"So? Will you go out with me?" Alfred asked again.

I sighed. "I don't know, Alfred. You're a great guy, but… You don't know me."

"Well, that's what dating is about. You get to know the person you're with." Alfred placed a hand on mine. It was warm and calloused, but gentle. "Please, give me a chance."

I stared at him. His blue eyes shone even from behind his glasses. He looked so…

"Fine."

Alfred smiled again, and I thought my heart would burst. He left soon afterwards, all a jumbled mess of emotions and nerves, like a teenager with puppy love. After he was gone, I looked at his new flowers. They seemed the brightest ones he had given me.

* * *

><p>I stayed at the hospital for a week. Everyday Alfred visited me. He came with flowers and cards, but no more visitors. I'm not sure why Matthew came unless he had come on account of Alfred asking him to be there to calm the jitters he had. It was rather cute.<p>

He wasn't here today, though.

The doctor came round in the early afternoon with a wheelchair, proclaiming I was free to leave the hospital now. I sneered at the chair. I'd have to sit in that same chair for weeks. Alfred wasn't coming. There was no point in staying. I left the comic books on the nightstand for him and told the nurses to give them to him if he came back. I didn't tell him where I lived. He would never see me again.

It was for the best.

"Here you are," the driver said. The hospital had someone drive me home and then help me back up to my second story apartment.

Nothing had changed, obviously. There was a few days worth of newspapers resting by the door. I had still left those dirty dishes on the counter by the sink. The papers that I had been looking over were still by my laptop sitting on the desk in the far corner. My studio seemed so familiar when I left, but now it looked lonely. It looked like the exact reflection of me.

I thanked the driver and wheeled myself inside. Almost instantly I hit my left cast on the kitchen chair. I did not scream. Let the record show that I just cringed and groaned, holding my leg as if to suck out all the pain with my hands. I grit my teeth as I waited for it all to subside.

A knock at the door startled me, and I ended up hitting my leg again. My entire body shuddered as I clutched my leg. Oh please stop hurting, please stop hurting.

"C-coming," I grumbled through gritted teeth. Slowly, and much more carefully, I wheeled myself to the door.

I wrenched it open. On the other side I found Alfred standing there holding, what else, flowers and a card.

"Hey!"

"What are you doing here?" I asked. In retrospect my tone was rather venomous for my actual feeling which was that of surprise, not anger. I was probably frustrated that I was having a very awkward time holding that door open and rocking my chair back to open it more fully. It was all around a pitiful sight. There should be a wheelchair class so us uninformed wheelchair specialists aren't made to look like a right fool.

"Uh…how about a hello?" Alfred asked, frowning.

"Yes, yes. Hello. Are you a stalker?"

"Haha, what?"

Finally I yanked the door open enough and motioned for Alfred to enter. I'd hate for any of my neighbors to see a fully dressed firefighter out on my front step. He came in, placing the vase and card on my kitchen table.

I turned my chair around after managing to close the door. "How did you find me? I'm fairly certain I didn't tell you where I live."

"Well, we had to take down your license plate number at the accident. I could've found you that way. Or there was the fact that when we checked up on you at the hospital, we had to know your number in case of an emergency or if you needed something. But really, I just asked a nurse."

My jaw dropped. "Is there a patient confidentiality or something?"

"Probably, but who's going to be suspicious of a firefighter? Especially one as good lookin' as me?"

I rolled my eyes. Alfred took a look around my flat. He probably had a much nicer place than I. Then again, I was an unaccomplished writer. A few days ago my editor had finally made her appearance. She said I had been given an extension on my deadline given my accident. She then handed me a very formal Get Well card, much unlike Alfred's always childish and cartoonish cards. I didn't keep that card.

"I'm sorry I came late," Alfred said, turning back to me. "I wish I could've seen you off."

I shrugged. "Why are you in your work clothes?"

"Oh, well we sometimes go driving around just in case. Rounds, ya know? I'm out with the boys and I asked them to pull over so's I could see ya."

I blushed, biting my lip. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah well I did." Alfred was silent a moment. "Gee, it's almost as if you don't want to see me."

I wanted to tell him how right, but wrong he was. But how? He wouldn't understand. He didn't know me. If he did, he wouldn't be here right now and practically begging for my attention. It made me squirm uncomfortably in my seat. He was staring at me, waiting for an answer that would never come.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. "I just…"

"You said you'd give me a chance," Alfred whispered. "Do you not like me?"

I snapped my head up, scoffing that he even thought such a thing. He looked so sincere, though. It was almost laughable to think that a man such as Alfred Jones, a firefighter and all around good guy like him, was actually insecure about some nobody such as me.

But maybe, just maybe, he was just as lonely as I was.

"When will you take me out on our date?" I asked calmly, avoiding his question. If I told him I liked him I feared I might ramble. Nothing like sounding even more like a moron.

Alfred brightened. "I'll pick you up at the end of the week, okay?"

"Sounds lovely."

* * *

><p>I hope Alfred didn't buy my book. I really do. Because it showed how much of a helpless romantic sap I really am. If he picked it up he'd know that my idea of a perfect date included walking barefoot on the beach or a stroll through the park at dusk, holding hands and not talking. Walking and strolls were out of the question given my current physical state, and Alfred being silent would be an amazing accomplishment if he ever mastered it. Or tried it.<p>

That left holding hands. I had felt Alfred's hands on mine, just once. That didn't count.

The week dragged on and all I saw of Alfred was the rare time he would pop in for a visit just to say hello. We exchanged mobile numbers and he gave me flowers like always. I had brought the flowers with me from the hospital, arranging them around my makeshift living/bedroom. Most of the time I adjusted to my wheelchair and living with it.

Relieving myself and bathing proved to be near impossible without banging my legs on something. I had remembered to buy the special casts I wear when taking a bath, but it was uncomfortable and only made my legs itchy when I put my regular casts back on. And seeing as my bathroom was barely large enough to fit just me in it, let alone my wheelchair, well, it was always interesting how I managed.

Cooking proved to be the worst of it, though. Many times I set the fire alarm off at the failed attempts of cooking. Sometimes that wasn't as bad seeing as Alfred's crew would arrive. Alfred would heroically bang on the door, calling my name, and I would answer holding a smoking frying pan. The first time he had actually scared me. He had all but thrown himself against the door as he screamed my name. When I answered I saw a massive axe resting over his shoulder. He claimed he only used it if he deemed it necessary. After that I rushed to the door as fast as I could, lest Alfred knock down my damn door in overzealous zeal.

The end of the week arrived, and with it came my date with Alfred. I dressed nice, but considering I had no idea where we were going, I kept it only semi-formal. Just a nice button up shirt and a slick comb through my hair. It didn't do much good. I still looked like a handicapped buffoon, but at least I was a well dressed one. My hair managed to mess itself back up with the assistance of my hand running through it.

When Alfred arrived he looked glorious. I had grown used to seeing that burly firefighter attire, so to see him in nothing but a T-shirt and jeans was a treat. I felt over dressed, though. He didn't mind. He even called me, "really cute", to which I told him not to lie and looked away, smiling to myself.

Alfred drove only a little ways away before stopping in front of the fire station. His fire station. My wheelchair folded easily, fitting into the back of Alfred's pick-up. He unfolded it and then lifted me in his arms to sit back in it, just as he had when I got in the truck. Our faces had been crimson both times.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, getting comfortable.

"I wanted you to meet my guys!" Alfred exclaimed.

Suddenly, no amount of wiggling in my chair could get me to feel comfortable. I was going from a pleasant evening out with just Alfred, to meeting an entire slew of firemen. Me, the social hermit. This did not bode well.

Alfred wheeled me into the station, past the polished red trucks, and into the lavish interior. It was made out of brick, appropriate, and had lockers lining one end of the wall. Names were written on the outside. Opposite the wall were plush leather couches and the largest television screen I'd ever seen. Currently, the firemen were in half of their uniforms, playing a video game. They had gathered around the couches, some standing, some sitting, and all cheering their friends on. I spotted only Matthew, and he was standing off to the side.

"Guys!" Alfred called. His voice boomed over the other voices.

The game was paused almost instantly. Suddenly, all the heads of the some ten men all turned to look at me. I gulped, squeezing the handles of my chair.

"Guys, this is Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, this is my company."

I think I said hello. I honestly cannot remember. I know I lifted a hand. Matthew came over to shake my hand and greet me. Then, the captain approached me.

He was a Hispanic man that looked far too young to be in the position of a captain. He had warm green eyes and an even warmer smile. He took my hand and shook it.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the Arthur Kirkland," he said. I noticed he had a distinct Spanish accent. "All our Al talks about is you. It's good we have a face to go with the name now. I am Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo."

I relaxed slightly. It was kind of sweet for the captain to reveal that Alfred had talked of me so much, but it also made me that much more on nerves. Alfred laughed to cover his nerves, but I just smiled pleasantly and said, "The pleasure is all mine, captain Carriedo."

The entire company came and greeted me after that. Alfred stayed by my side. Everyone was nice, to say the least, and commented on my accent. They asked where I was from, what I did, how I liked America. They made jokes and playfully pushed Alfred. They all seemed genuinely interested in me.

Over time I felt myself relax enough to smile and make a few snide jokes of my own. The company had welcomed me with open arms.

I wheeled around the station, looking at everything. Alfred had gotten distracted by a game, but I didn't mind. Seeing a real life fire station was thrilling. I had never seen one when back in England, but I never had much interest. An American station wasn't terribly different from what I remembered.

I found Alfred's locker and hesitated before it. I moved on until I stopped before a wall of photographs. They were not of the men, but rather, ordinary people. They ranged from children to men and women and elderly and cats and dogs. It ran the entire length of the wall and was starting to invade the one next to it that led to the doorway into the garage. I looked on, wondering just who they were.

"Awesome, isn't it?"

I turned to see Alfred had wandered over. He was looking at the wall as well. There was a sense of pride in his eyes that I must have missed before. Or maybe he had never found anything to be prideful about until now.

Oh.

"These people. Did you save them?" I asked.

"Not all of them," Alfred replied. "It's every person that this station has protected and saved, and not just from fires. Just in general, ya know?"

"How many have you saved?" I asked.

Alfred inhaled deeply. "Well… There's that woman, that kid, that kid, that kid… Oh that guy an' that woman. That old guy and his wife there, plus their dog. There's that kid and his mom."

I listened as Alfred pointed to well over a dozen. Each smiling face looked back at me, all alive and well, thanks to this man. This incredible man.

While I sat here, and have always been sitting here. I never did much of anything in my life. Even when I got into the accident I was merely on my way back from the post office. I had decided to take the highway purely because the traffic on the street looked no better. The post I sent off was just bills. Nothing important.

Like me. Unlike Alfred.

Alfred who rushed into buildings, chopped down doors, and rushed to burning cars. Selflessly pulling the wounded out and carrying them to safety. While I could hardly walk or write a decent story enough to get the bloody rent out on time.

"But, right there," Alfred finished, pointing at an empty spot at the bottom. "That's gonna be my favorite person I saved."

"Who?" I asked.

"You!" Alfred laughed. "I'll have to get yer picture later."

"Alfred?" I asked. My voice was shaky. Keep it together, old bean. Don't cry. There are firemen present. "What do you think of me?"

"What do you mean?"

I gulped, willing my voice to remain strong. "You are…incredible. And I'm…I'm nothing much. Why do you like me?"

"Do I need a reason?" Alfred bent down to my eye level.

A smile unlike one I'd seen him wear before appeared. It looked so lovely. I honestly cannot describe it. I can guarantee that it wasn't one he made often and not to many people, if any at all. He reached out and touched my face. Those calloused hands that had gripped hoses and ladders and bodies now touched mine so gently. I couldn't help but lean into him.

"I'd like a reason…," I sighed.

"Because I think you're the strongest guy I know," he replied.

"I am not. You have saved so many lives. And these men. They all…"

Alfred shook his head. He put his other hand on my other cheek, holding my face in place as he looked at me. His gaze held me firm. "There's a difference between bravery and strength. If both my legs had broken, I'd be a shattered mess. But you, you're still going. You still have that ol' English stiff upper lip like my granpops said you guys had."

Feeling the stress ease off of my shoulders, I shuddered a laugh. "I just can't see how much I'm worth, I guess…"

Alfred kissed my cheek and my face blossomed into heat. "Then let me show you."

I studied him for a moment, curious as to what more he could do. "If you are asking me out on another date, I have to say you are doing it poorly."

"Oh, er…"

I placed my hands on his still on my cheeks. I smiled in return, maybe not matching his volume of sincerity, but it was one I hadn't given in a long time. "When you take me out again, I suggest we do it somewhere more romantic."

Alfred winked before nodding. "You got it."

I'll never forget when we kissed. I was never one to kiss on the first date, but he was such a lush. I couldn't very well leave him without one. He had done so much, even driving me home and taking me to my door and helping me inside. I kissed his cheek and as I pulled away, I caught the look in his eyes.

Whatever it was, a glimmer from some reflection or just a pure desire to kiss me, it drove me to him and him to me. Our lips met and it was long and needed. He cradled my head and I gripped his shirt. I didn't want this moment to end.

I didn't want him to leave.

I just didn't know exactly why yet. I didn't know what exactly Alfred Jones would mean to me in the coming months.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Hello and welcome to my new mini-series. I say mini because I mean it. This series will be only four chapters long. Super short compared to the fact I almost always do a twenty-chapter fic.

Credit for the injury and medical information all goes to my pal, wisteria. She was a great deal of help and I thank her for all the messages that were sent back and forth.

This series will only update once a week, every Sunday (if I can manage), so it'll be my August story. Haha. I hope you enjoy!


	2. November

A knock at the door had me put down my newspaper I had been reading. It was a quarter after one in the afternoon. I wasn't sure who would be coming over seeing as I knew Alfred was at work and it wasn't time for the rent. Nevertheless I put aside my paper and wheeled over to the door. In the past two weeks I had managed to become rather superb in my wheelchair handling, if I do say so myself.

"Hey Arthur!" Alfred greeted with a wave.

My jaw dropped. "A-Alfred? What're you doing here? Don't you have work?"

"Naw," Alfred replied.

"What, but you told me you had work." Alfred walked in, placing a kiss on my cheek.

"Yup! Sos I could surprise you!" Alfred took my wheelchair and headed out the door. I grabbed the doorframe.

"What? Alfred, I hate surprises. What're you doing?" I looked over my shoulder at him.

"Nuh uh! You'll see when we get there." Alfred, the git, gave me a wink. I hate when he does that. I become flustered and let down my guard.

Alfred took that moment to wheel me down to his truck. As he helped me into the passenger seat, I thought of the past four weeks. We'd been dating for almost an entire month now. That wasn't terribly impressive, but given my last relationship had been three years ago and I hadn't even had a fling once since, well, I'm chalking this one up to being a record for me. Mainly for my ability to actually handle Alfred.

The man was someone I would have never normally gone for had we met under different circumstances, meaning if I was sitting at home and working on novels that were going nowhere and not getting my car squished under big American cars. The thought of knowing an accident drew us to meet bothered me in the pit of my stomach. Not only that but I was counting down the moments when we would break up.

I was not interesting in the slightest. I preferred to be alone and hardly talked in conversation. Most of the time I picked apart whatever Alfred said. But he smiled, kissed my cheek, and called me cute. If I was watching television when he was over he would shift to put his arm around me and comment on whatever was on. When I read he would do chores around the studio for me, only pausing to smile _that_ smile at me. It would leave me breathless and confused. How could a man of such caliber like Alfred Jones care for me?

Seeing him try made me want to try, though. When we went out on dates I did my best to enjoy myself and not dread that he'd realize his mistake. If he was at work I worked to not fret he could be hurt, trusting him that he wasn't as stupid as he could be, especially when out at sushi and he stuck chopsticks in his mouth like a walrus (that grew old the third time around).

Then again there were moments like these as we drove to seemingly nowhere that I thought Alfred thought the same about himself. He did have dorky tendencies that annoyed me. He was bad at reading my emotions, creating a little friction between us at times. Unlike Alfred, I didn't say everything I thought off the top of my head. Just once I hoped he'd catch on to my actions rather than my words. But even when he didn't, I found I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. He was cute, to say the least.

But what was I to him? I didn't save lives or work out excessively or stumble over my sentences when I get nervous or show up unexpectedly to take him out on dates. Hell, I couldn't even bathe correctly without knocking my leg on the blasted bathtub.

"Here we are!" Alfred declared in a singsong voice.

Due to my tumultuous thoughts I hadn't noticed we had arrived. It was the park near downtown. It was rather brand new, so it was still fresh and popular. There were many walking paths around the recently cleaned pond. I think L.A. was trying to aim for their version of Central Park like in New York City, but it clearly wasn't working. Only a few months old and it was already tagged by graffiti and rubbish bins were dented by repeated abuse.

Alfred helped me into my chair. He was smiling more than normal. He pulled out what I seriously hoped was not a picnic basket.

"Alfred," I started, my tone flat. "We are not here to have a picnic are we?"

He laughed. "Yeah babe! We sure are!"

Without listening to my protests he wheeled me off into the park. Around us, children scampered along with high pitched giggles, birds sang, and couples planted themselves underneath any available trees. And then there was me, scowling at the Disney-like atmosphere. Even I couldn't write such sickening sweet scenes as this. And worse, this was real.

Alfred humming behind me only worsened my mood. I was not the type to enjoy the park while others were around. I preferred to go about when it was reaching dusk and children had to go home for meals and the gangsters hadn't started their drug deals. But Alfred cared not for the amount of people around us.

We went further into the park. Alfred stopped when we reached the top of a hill. He pointed to the pond just at the end, saying that's where we would eat. I was surprised at how little people had decided to gather around it. It was the focal point of the park, and yet most people preferred to stay away. Perhaps it wasn't as clean as the media made it out to be when it first opened.

Heading downhill, Alfred suddenly picked up speed. I looked down at the wheels, and then back at Alfred.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"Put your hands in the air, Artie! It's like a rollercoaster!" Alfred laughed. He was running now.

I gripped the handlebars and stared ahead. What if he lost control? My legs might break again. I yelled in fear, but Alfred thought I was whooping for joy. He screamed in excitement.

"Come on, Art! Hands in the air! Trust me! I won't let you go!"

Slowly, my hands released their tight hold on the bars, and lifted into the air. The adrenaline slipping down my back raced to my heart. I felt a rush of the same thrill Alfred had. Somehow, I started laughing. I hadn't been on a rollercoaster in years, but I could recall the initial fear that jumps into your stomach, causing you to feel weightless for an agonizingly exhilarating moment. It was what made us all scream, and then laugh when we remembered to trust these machines that brought us our controlled ride of terror.

While Alfred was far from a rollercoaster, I trusted him. He had saved my life. He cared for me. He took me on stupid trips to the park for picnics and ran down hills with my wheelchair, promising me to never let me go.

The picnic itself was pleasant. We picked a spot under a small tree where I rested my back against the trunk and had my legs out before me. Alfred had brought along a blanket that we both sat on. He had made sandwiches and brought fruit for me, junk food for him. We talked about nothing in particular, but we didn't have to talk about anything in general. I quite liked the fact we could talk about books Alfred hadn't ever read, comic books I'll never read, movies we'd yet to see together, and the way our jobs worked. I was becoming an expert on firefighter slang and Alfred now knew the value of a comma.

While Alfred didn't have work in the midday, he did have work that night. I decided that I was tired and asked if we could go back to my flat. I helped Alfred as much as I could with cleaning up, but he was faster, and before I knew it we were heading back to the truck. Alfred noticed that near the parking lot were the public restrooms.

"Do you mind if I go?" Alfred asked, nodding at the bathrooms.

"No, go ahead."

He put my wheelchair at the edge of the grass overlooking the park. I smiled as I watched him leave. My smile faded as I looked back the park. I remembered hearing about this park being finished months ago, but never paid it any attention. To be honest I would never have come to visit the place even out of curiosity. I had no motivation to deal with coming downtown or being near what I considered a safe area of town.

Somehow, I was glad that Alfred had taken me here. My smile returned.

I felt someone shake my wheelchair then. I gasped, startled. Thinking it was Alfred I turned with a retort, but swallowed my words. A group of tough looking teenagers had approached me from behind. They weren't gang members, but they certainly tried hard to dress the part.

"Hey faggot, we saw you and that other faggot earlier," one of them sneered. He was wearing red and smelled of cheap alcohol.

I frowned at the wannabe-Blood. "That has nothing to concern with you."

"Yeah it does! You two was right in our field 'a vision!" another snapped.

"It was disgusting!"

"Why can't you gays jus' stay home and fuck? I dun wanna see it!"

I narrowed my eyes. "We have just as much right as anyone else to be out on a date. We were not hurting anyone."

"Sinners," the first teen growled. He pushed my wheelchair.

"I am firm in my beliefs, thank you," I said calmly.

The boys grew frustrated that I wasn't scared of them or reacting the way they wanted, whatever that was. Maybe if I cried and pleaded for them to not hurt me they'd leave. I wasn't going to. I had been in a car crash. Punks didn't scare me. And I stood behind what I said. Alfred and I weren't hurting anyone. We were just like any other couple on a date here at the park. The only difference was we were both males. And while it bothered me greatly to know that I couldn't snog my own boyfriend in public while a couple behind a tree nearby could, I was more upset at the fact these boys were upset by the sheer fact we were just _sitting_ there.

Before I could react, the boys began pushing and pulling on my chair. I flopped about in my seat, unable to keep upright by the force of their jostling. I yelled at them to stop, but they laughed and called me crude names. Finally, I let go of the armrests and threw punches. One landed on a boy's face. He yelped out in pain.

The first boy that had spoken turned to me with a fixed stare. He then punched my left leg, right on the cast. I bucked forward as pain broke like glass across my entire leg and up into my chest. The boy landed another punch on my other leg. Tears sprung to my eyes and I leaned forward, holding both of my legs. The pain made my head fuzzy, and for a moment I thought I might faint.

I looked up threw my squinted eyes. The boys were laughing and coming for me again. I braced for another blow, when I saw Alfred come running from behind the group.

He put a hand on one boy's shoulder, turning him sharply and punching his jaw. He fell to the ground in a heap of tears. The group turned in surprise. Alfred punched the next in the gut, moving to give another an uppercut in the chin. He gave the final boy, the one who had injured me, a punch across the cheek. Not one of those punks got up and defended themselves. They sat on the ground in a sniveling mess.

Alfred didn't spare them any more of his time. He fell to one knee and touched my shoulder gently.

"Arthur? I'm gonna take you to the hospital now, okay?"

I couldn't talk, so I nodded. Alfred rushed me off to his truck. Being picked up and placed in the seat was excruciating and I screamed in a most pathetic way. But Alfred didn't say anything. He had an unusual sense of coolness to him. He drove to the hospital in silence while I cried myself into a pitiable state.

Once we arrived at the hospital he took me inside without the wheelchair, just carried me in his arms. If I had doubts that he was detached from my pain, the hard thumping of his heartbeat against me dissolved them. He rushed right up the front counter, demanding I get help. The nurses brought out a new wheelchair, and before I knew it, I was taken to X-ray. I was shown to a room that was very similar to the room I was in when I had first broken my legs. It was there that Alfred sat waiting for me.

The nurses gave me some pain killers, checked my blood pressure and temperature, and then left. The room was too loud despite no noise coming from either of us. The whirlwind of events had left a vacuum of silence. I found I couldn't look at Alfred. I felt like a right idiot. I had provoked those hooligans and gotten myself into this mess. Alfred must think I'm surely not worth his time.

But then his arms were around my neck, pulling my face into his chest. He shuddered a sigh of relief.

"Oh God, Arthur. Are you okay, babe?"

I blinked a few moments, trying to regain composure. "W-what?"

"When I saw those assholes… I could've killed them," Alfred whispered. He tightened his hold on me. "But I kept my cool because… I had to get you to the hospital."

"But…you seemed so…"

"Distant? Yeah, I went into my fireman mode." He kissed my cheek, pulling away slightly. His eyes were puffy and red. Had he cried while I was in X-ray? "I just was determined to get you here first."

I looked down at my lap. I didn't know what to say. He had most likely saved my life again. Those boys were getting rowdy. I doubted anyone else in that park would've stepped in to help me like Alfred had. And Alfred had been so upset to go so far as cry for me.

How humiliating.

The doctor came soon enough with good news; my legs hadn't broken again. There was mild bruising, but nothing serious. He instructed me to take it easy, rest for the remainder of the day, and expect my personal training to come a week later than I had originally planned. It wasn't terribly distressing news, but it still made my mood even fouler than before.

Alfred took me home and waited until I was settled to leave for work. We didn't say anything more. He looked upset by the entire ordeal and I blamed my silence on the fact I was tired. I didn't want to think anymore, so I turned on the television and planted myself right in front of it. I didn't move until my head bobbed onto my chest. I pulled out my bed and carefully got in.

The dark stillness of the room mirrored that of the hospital room. It was too quiet. I could hear my doubts resurfacing. How Alfred was amazing and I was not. How I didn't deserve such a brilliant man that saved me _twice_ in a month. How he was out, right now, putting out fires and saving lives while I sat like a sad lump at home. How he might be dead come morning.

I bolted up in bed, a cold sweat forming on my forehead. I told myself to calm down. Alfred would not die. He would be safe. But I couldn't ignore that the nightmares of Alfred dying were increasingly getting more prominent. The worst was when I dreamt I was at the bottom of a burning building, looking up and calling to Alfred to jump. I promised I'd catch him. Only, when he jumped, he was swallowed up in the flames.

I was powerless to save him.

This nagging feeling of sheer helplessness endured for the remainder of the week. Alfred texted to check up on me, but claimed his schedule this week was too hectic to stop by. He worked odd hours sometimes, so I didn't feel as if he were avoiding me like I was him. If I really wanted to see him, I could simply ask for him to stop by regardless of the hour.

But I didn't want to see him. I was too ashamed.

A week later and Alfred came to find me. He found me hunched over my laptop, furiously typing away, though I wasn't really doing anything. It was more like I was slamming my fingers on the keyboard to make noise. The television was on in the background, but that was still too quiet.

When Alfred had arrived, I turned off the television and moved away from my computer. Alfred took a seat on my couch and I faced him, sitting in my chair. We were both looking at our laps. It was as awkward as the first time we met.

"Arthur, um…" Alfred was playing with his hands as he spoke. "Did I do something wrong? I mean… are you afraid of me?"

What?

"What?" I looked up, repeating my thoughts aloud. "What do you mean?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head, much like he did our first time we met. I wanted to smile fondly and take his hand in mine, but it wouldn't be appropriate. Instead I sat there wondering how I could ever be afraid of a man like him.

"Well, ever since the park, it's just… I dunno. You act different now." Alfred sighed, looking at me finally. "I'm worried you want to break up with me…"

I shook my head, my mouth agape. "No… No I don't…"

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yes. How could I be afraid of you? You saved me."

Alfred sighed loudly, running his hands through his hair. "Well, I mean, I have a tendency to scare people, I guess. When I get angry I get…really angry. And I really do mean I could have killed those guys. I was just so worried about you."

Words failed me, as they often do when Alfred is near. I thought about the weight of his words. About how he cried for me in the hospital, how he was so worried we'd break up it stressed him enough to keep his distance from me for an entire week. Then I thought of the weight of my own words clunking around in my head.

The sheer magnitude of Alfred getting hurt tormented me to the point I had vicious nightmares. But there was nothing I could do about that. It was his job. Me whining about it would not make him quit, and I could never ask such a thing from him. It was obvious that he loved his job, despite the danger. The only other thing worming a hole in my stomach and confidence was the sheer inequality of the relationship.

"I don't deserve you," I admitted down to my hands.

"What?" Alfred sounded just as I had when he confessed his own worry.

"I don't…," I mumbled. "You're…a brilliant man. You save lives and rush into burning buildings. I just…sit here and do nothing. Even before you met me I wasn't much of a social butterfly. I just… I'm nothing."

There was silence between us. Then, Alfred placed his hand on my own. I stared at his hand, but not at him. If I did, I feared I might cry. The hard stress of my worries had formed into a rock, nestling into my chest right below my throat. I had to have complete concentration on my emotions if I were to make it through this moment.

"Arthur… You're the strongest guy I know."

I choked on a laugh, blinking back tears. My voice was unsteady, but I didn't care. The man had seen me cry once already, he could see it again. A tear slipped from my cheek onto his hand.

"No I'm not… You and all those men in your company… They are certainly…"

Alfred's hands cupped my face and lifted my chin to look at him. I stared into his eyes. So warm and kind. He was smiling, but it was different again. He had so many smiles. Was I that expressive?

"Arthur… There's a difference between being strong and being brave. I'm brave because I can kick down a door and know when it's safe to run into a burning building. But you're so strong."

"H-how…? I'm not strong... I couldn't even defend myself last week… And then I…"

Something inside me broke. The thought of Alfred getting hurt on my account or just hurt in general, it shattered me. I began to cry. My hands moved up to grasp at Alfred's wrists, pulling him closer to me. It was foolish of me to feel so emotional for a man I'd known only a month, but Alfred was more than that.

He had been more of a crash into my life than that car accident. He was becoming important to me. More important than any man had in my life before. He took me out and pushed my limits.

He scared me. When I got down to it, he terrified me. He was someone that should be off limits. He was a fireman, for God's sake. I should not have ever been able to have the privilege to meet him. But I had met him and he was still here, saving me from punk gang members and holding me as I cried and still being so wonderful.

"Arthur, if I had broken my legs, I'd never be the same. I'd be so crushed," Alfred said. He wiped my tears with his thumb, trying to get me to look at him. I only cried harder. "But look at you. You're still going. And fuck those guys. They weren't so tough! They picked on a handicapped guy."

"But I provoked them," I croaked.

Alfred kissed my cheeks. "No, babe. Listen to me. I heard you in the bathroom. You were telling them off. You were awesome. You did nothing wrong. Don't blame yourself. You know you didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes need to change their mind. I wonder how they'd feel if I told them I was a fireman."

I managed a laugh. "I wager they'd be right furious and say they'd rather burn than have you save them."

"Yeah, and then when their house burns down they'll beg for me to carry them out like a blushing bride."

We laughed together. Alfred handed me a tissue box, of which I used to dry my eyes. Alfred took my hand in his, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. It comforted me, that small gesture. I knew he was still there.

"Have you been thinking about this for awhile?" Alfred asked.

I nodded. "Pretty much since we met… I just don't see why you like me."

Alfred chuckled. "I could say the same about you. I mean, I only ramble. I've been told I'm really annoying. Matt says most guys and girls hate that I talk so much, and mainly about nothing."

"You do talk a lot," I started. Alfred blushed. I put my free hand on his cheek, smiling finally. "But I like that about you…"

Alfred blushed more, but smiled wider. "Yeah…? Well… I like that you're so different from me. I mean, sure you can't run into a burning building. Not everyone can. That doesn't make you less than me, babe. I can't write for shit."

Alfred paused. He averted his eyes to the floor. "Arthur… you know the wall with the pictures of people we saved? Well…there's another wall we have. It's in the garage."

"I didn't see it," I said.

"It doesn't have photos on it. It has names. It's of everyone we've lost."

I gulped. Alfred sighed, his own voice growing shaky. He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued, "It was one of my first times out. We weren't to go inside yet, but I heard word there was a kid in the house. So I went in anyways. Matthew warned me there might be backdraft."

"What?" I asked.

"It's when heat and heavy smoke are in an area that takes away the air, and then comes back making a sudden explosion."

I felt my face go pale. There was such a thing?

"Well, I didn't listen to my company. Bad rule," Alfred said. He closed his eyes. "I saw the kid. I reached for him, but sure enough, there was a backdraft. I was thrown backwards and was really hurt. But…the kid…"

Now it was my turn to watch someone cry. Alfred, for all of his bravado and charisma, collapsed into guilt and regret and tears. I held him as he mourned the lost child. I couldn't imagine the pain. And at such a young age too. It must haunt Alfred through-out his entire career. I remembered faintly that he had told me once he saved mainly children.

I pulled his face up as he had done with mine. I kissed and wiped away his tears in the same manner and gave him the tissue box. "Alfred, you said you weren't strong. And yet…you are."

Alfred shook his head. "Not like you."

"Alfred," I stared. Somehow I smiled. "Didn't you just say we shouldn't equate ourselves to each other?"

Alfred laughed. He ran his arm across his face, red from crying and a bit from embarrassment. "Yeah… You're right. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, dear," I said. "I'm the one to apologize. I put you through that agony, not to mention myself. I will try not to let that happen again."

Alfred kissed my right temple and sat back with a small smile. "Don't worry. We're only at our one month, Artie. We'll figure things out. Don't worry about it."

I nodded. I was bound to figure things out. Not with Alfred, but with myself.

* * *

><p>I had been living in America for years now, but had never had a proper Thanksgiving. At least according to Alfred. I would make more food than I normally did on the holiday and then eat while watching the American football games that were on television. Alfred claimed, however, that Thanksgiving was being with family and loved ones. Seeing as I was practically disowned by my family and they were all still back in England, that was right out.<p>

So Alfred took it upon himself to inviting me to the fire station's annual Thanksgiving meal. I arrived with my home made scones, unsure if that really fit the correct American tradition. Alfred said nothing about it, though he did seem alarmed when he first laid eyes on them. I reminded him that it's not about presentation. If it tasted good, which I assured him it would, then that was all that mattered.

The company was more than welcoming upon my arrival. Captain Carriedo took my contribution to the meal and smiled at them nervously. He set them on the far end of the table. I was surprised to see such an expansive table in the middle of the fire house. The food was still being cooked off in the kitchen far in the back. It seemed four or five firemen had crammed themselves into the small room to prepare the dinner.

Alfred steered me towards the television. The football game was on, but the men wanted to play video games with me instead. I didn't mind seeing as I wasn't fond of the American sport. Instead, Alfred and Matthew teamed up against me and another fireman, Jamie, in a fighting melee game. I had never played a game quite like this one before.

Alfred loved to tease me through-out the game, taunting me all the while. I suppose his ego got the better of him and he ended up losing. The other men howled in laughter when the red bold words "YOU LOSE" appeared on the screen. Alfred dropped his controller, staring at me. I merely gave him a smirk in return.

"Sorry Al, you lose," I said. Jamie gave me a high-five in celebration.

"Beginner's luck!" Alfred exclaimed.

He regrouped with Matthew, picking different characters, and took me and Jamie on again. It must have been just luck because we did lose after that. Alfred jumped on the couch in celebration, punching his fist in the air.

"Oh yes, celebrate because you beat a first timer. You're so amazing," I said sarcastically.

I found myself laughing and enjoying the company of all the men. Alfred joked, the men teased him, and I thought the day was turning out to be perfect. The men all signed my cast, something I thought was a childish thrill of mine. Alfred put his right where I could see it.

_Property of Alfred F. Jones_

"What's the F stand for?" I asked.

"No one knows," Matthew replied. He rolled his eyes. "Even I don't know."

Eventually dinner was served. We all _oohed _and _ahhed_ at the golden perfection of a turkey. I had to admit to myself that I could never make something that glorious. Alfred was practically drooling as the rest of the side dishes were placed around the centerpiece meal. We all were served our drinks, soda as the men were still technically on duty, but I had a tiny glass of wine.

"It's time to say grace, everyone," Antonio said. "I believe Arthur should be the one to give it."

The men agreed and looked my way with enthusiastic smiles. I flushed, unsure of how to give a proper grace. Although, I suppose I could've said anything like they did in the movies. I dipped my head down along with everyone else and held my entwined hands before me.

"Um...well…," I sputtered. This was not going to go well. But then I remembered something. "…Dear God… Bless that these men will stay alive and well, so that they may fill more of the photograph wall as opposed to the name wall. Bless that those on the photograph wall are now safe and happy as well. And that those on the other are at peace as they lay to rest. We thank you for this meal to better serve these brave and _strong_ men. Amen."

Everyone mumbled amen. I opened my eyes and looked over to Alfred. He was smiling at me, his eyes shining from tears threatening to appear. He took my hand in his, and leaned over to peck my cheek. I blushed. Across the way, one of the other firemen looked at us with wide eyes.

"Welp, now I've seen Al kiss a guy," he said jokingly. The other men laughed, as did Alfred and I.

Captain Carriedo was about to cut the turkey when the bell rang. Everyone froze. Alfred chanced a sad glance my way before he, like the other men, scrambled up. I watched as they all left everything the way it was and ran to their lockers to change. The speaker overhead announced the location of the fire and the type of fire. A "Class K".

Alfred came back to me, jacket and helmet adorning him just like I'd seen many times. He kissed my cheek in apology.

"What's a Class K?" I asked. "Is it bad?"

Alfred shook his head. "Naw. Kitchen fire. It shouldn't be long, but we might be out for awhile if it gets bad."

"Jones!"

"Right!" Alfred rushed to the garage.

In seconds the entire crew was gone, their sirens blaring, and I was left alone with a perfectly untouched meal. I looked at the table. I wasn't going to eat it alone. That would be very rude. And horribly lonely. Instead, I gauged the distance between the table and the kitchen.

"I guess…that'll have to do."

I must have fallen asleep some time later. My arms were on the table and my head rested upon them. I dreamt that the men had come home, their truck quietly parking in the garage. The men trekked inside, mumbling how sad they were now that their food was cold. Someone grumbled that the kid was stupid for setting the kitchen on fire in the first place. I heard Alfred's voice and relaxed. He was okay.

Then I dreamt the men entered the room where I was and saw the table. It had been cleared. I had worked the entire time taking every plate, one by one, to the kitchen, where I struggled to find Tupperware for them all to fit into. Then, once sealed, I placed them in the refrigerator.

"Wow, Al," someone said. "I hope you're not planning on lettin' this guy go."

"I'm not." I felt Alfred's hand on my back. This was such a wonderful dream. "Arthur? …Arthur, wake up."

It wasn't a dream? I opened my eyes, blinking at the light. Sure enough, it was real. The men had all returned safe and sound and Alfred, smelling faintly of burnt potatoes, smiled down at me. I lifted my head and yawned.

"Oh! 'ello!"

Alfred chuckled. He kissed me on the lips, a smile still on his. I kissed him back, a hand on his cheek. When we broke, I was blushing and giggling nervously.

"You put all the food away?" he asked, obviously knowing the answer.

I nodded. "Y-yes. I didn't know what time you would all be home. You can just heat it up. I didn't want it to go to waste."

Captain Carriedo came over to thank me, and the crew went to work reheating all of the food. Once again, it lay on the table in glistening perfection and we dug in, this time without saying grace. Alfred helped gather food on my plate for me, but understood I was capable of getting my own food. I figured he was doing it as thanks for all of my hard work. I gave him a smile in return and patted his leg.

The captain had stood with his glass in the air. "I propose a toast to Arthur. To all of you men. You were great out in the field today, as was Arthur back here at the station. Arthur, you are so dear to Alfred, as he is to us, and you've proven yourself despite your handicap. I declare you an honorary fireman."

The other men raised their glasses enthusiastically and cheered. Alfred clapped a hand on my back, smiling widely at me. I just hid my face, unused to such attention. But while I tried to hide the wide grin appearing, I was elated on the inside.

I had friends. I had a boyfriend. I belonged somewhere. I was actually important.

And I had done something despite my handicap. Alfred was right. I could be strong.

Slowly, things were falling into place.

And that night, as Alfred dropped me off back at my flat and we kissed just inside my door, my arms wrapped around his neck and his around my waist, I felt something inside click. It was wonderful and scary, but it was something. I tried to sleep it off, but when I awoke it was still there.

Finally, halfway through the following day as I tried to work through the amazing girth that I now carried, I figured out what it was. Ah yes, that old feeling that was always so fleeting with me. I hadn't had it since before I was disowned, possibly even before then.

It was self-confidence. It was returning. And with it came a brand new idea for a story. I stayed up late into the night typing away on my laptop. A whole new world was created by my fingers. I couldn't stop. Any writer will know that starting a new story is one of the most exciting things in the world, second to actually finishing it. I only paused to eat and use the washroom, but even Alfred had been slightly ignored in favor of my brand new story. I called my editor and let her know and she asked to come by and see what I had finished so far. Once I had been given the green light I continued my furious writing.

Then, I had received a call from my doctor. Starting next week, the first week of December, I would begin my physical therapy. My casts were coming off.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It's not as long as the previous one, but it has just as much as it. Again, much thanks to wisteria02 for her help on this chapter with Arthur's injury.

The Bloods of L.A. are one of the most ruthless gangs. Their influence has spread to the rest of the United States, but they are most notorious for being in L.A. Their main rival gang are the Crips, which wear blue.

And no, I highly doubt there's a park like that in downtown L.A. There's no room, lol. I just made it up.


	3. December

I hadn't seen flowers since my time in the hospital. The ones I had taken home from the duration of my stay had remained alive well enough, but eventually they died like any other plant. Since then, well, I just hadn't any care to buy myself any and Alfred never brought any around to brighten up my studio. Not like I needed them. Still, it was nice to have around the place.

Especially now that I wrote almost every waking moment. The new story that I had begun had possessed me like a demonic ghoul and I was up late at night writing draft upon draft of new chapters, possible scenes, and meaningless side stories in order to help me flesh out the characters. My editor was more than overjoyed with elation as she came by every other day to see my progress. Normally I was slow and tended to hide my work until the last moment, but with this new story came a fresh outlook of how I was going about my day.

Alfred was pleased too. He had seen my mood drastically improve. I'd like to think that all the credit fell to him, but it wasn't just Alfred that helped me. The men at the firehouse were a great deal of help in their warm welcoming and kind friendship. I had visited the station a few times since Thanksgiving, and now with my casts off I was planning on coming round more often.

The first few days of physical therapy had been brutal. I was scared, but tried not to show it. Keeping my stiff upper lip, as Alfred loved to remind me. The therapist had reminded me to go at my own pace, and to not push myself. He obviously hadn't met someone as stubborn as me.

Alfred had taken me to and from my appointments with an optimistic outlook every time. The first day I had found it annoying and was quite irritable from it. I didn't speak much, keeping my thoughts to myself in order to not bite Alfred's good intentions right off of his head. If he noticed he didn't say anything.

The session hadn't gone well at all. I expected myself to just jump up and start walking right off the bat, but was sorely mistaken. I had nearly fallen over instead. Alfred sat and watched, cheering me on all the while, as the therapist kept a steady hand on my back and helped me to stand. I found that standing alone was hard enough. When my time was finished I was dripping with sweat and exhaustion.

It was then that Alfred started buying me flowers again.

The first day was orange Kaffir lilies. They sat beside my computer until the second day when he brought a new bouquet of strange red flowers. I knew they weren't poinsettias. Alfred proudly declared they were "Amaryllis" flowers. He thought he was so smart.

The second day wasn't nearly as strenuous as the first day, but I was still worn out. The third day saw little improvement, but my therapist and Alfred both tried to reassure me I was doing well. The fourth day I didn't have Alfred by my side. I felt guilty for having taken up so much of his time considering he got so little free time given his job, but he never complained.

I still couldn't drive myself and had difficulty moving about, so Alfred asked Matthew to come and help on the days he was unavailable. It was nice to be with Matthew for a time. Not that I was glad Alfred was away, but we were spending an awful lot of time together. I worried that he was growing tired of me or that I would of him. We hadn't even had a real fight yet, just squabbles.

"Don't think about it," Matthew said when I voiced my fears. "If you two fight, you'll fight. You're at your three month now. Who knows what will happen."

Finally, towards the middle of December, I found myself walking. It was slow and I stumbled a lot. Much of the time I thought myself like that of a baby taking their first few steps. I was humiliated, glancing at Alfred watching patiently from the corner, but when his face broke out into a proud smile that sent shivers to my core, well, I felt damn proud of myself too.

I had changed in just three months. Physically, emotionally and mentally. That car crash had been a blessing in disguise.

I had gotten far enough in my therapy to walk around my studio with little complications. It felt amazing to stand on my own and cook or brew tea. Sometimes I would falter and grip the counter or a table close to me. One time I did so when Alfred was present. I expected him to tell me to take it easy or watch me like a hawk the rest of his stay.

However, he said nothing and watched as I struggled to stand back up. He knew that interfering would anger me. I could do it. I had to do it. If he helped I would feel inferior.

It was little things like these that made my heart begin to blossom with deep affection for Alfred.

One day Alfred appeared at my flat with poinsettias. I was pleased to see the beautiful red flowers, placing them on my kitchen table. It really was nearing Christmas.

"Can we go on a date?" Alfred asked.

In all honesty, the two of us had never been on a real date, as in a night out together for dinner and possibly a movie or something just as romantic. My wheelchair made it near impossible for us to get around and I hated to be a burden. Ever since the incident at the park, we had kept our relationship a secret.

I smiled at the prospect of a night finally out with my boyfriend. "I would love to."

* * *

><p>"Alfred…," I whispered. He moaned my name back.<p>

We had ended up back at Alfred's place, too high from our beautiful night to care who saw us now. I had him pressed against the front wall of his apartment complex. My hands were practically in his pants by the time he pried me away and led me inside. In the elevator he pushed his leg between mine and _pressed_.

My head fell back as my mouth opened, but nothing came out. I don't think voicing my pleasure at that _pressure_ could capture how hot and heavy and needy I had become. I gripped at Alfred's clothes, desperately aching to take his shirt off and feel his hard abs pressing on me, feel that _pressure_ pushing against me, into me, and _Oh Alfred_.

He all but carried me to his apartment, kicking the door out of the way as I sucked on a delicious spot on his neck. I'm not sure how we had been swept away in this ragged desire. It could've been a number of things. The romantic evening, the sexual tension that had been between us for a few weeks now, my own desire to actually shag a fireman, or the fact we actually _could_ now.

Having the casts come off gave me more than just freedom around my living quarters, it gave me the chance to date and have sex with my boyfriend; for us to be a normal couple.

I moaned Alfred's name as I lay on his bed, which I noticed was not a fold out and had a wonderful feeling of silk covers underneath my back. His hands slipped under my shirt and pulled it up. I sat up to give him an easier time taking it off. He laid me back with a sigh as his eyes drank me up. The way he looked at me was one I had never seen before. It was almost as if he were looking at the most precious thing in the world. He stroked my torso with restraint, wanting nothing more than to devour me.

I spread my legs and smiled up at him as I moved my hands to the side. It was different, being admired and lusted after. I had never had a man desire me as much as Alfred did right then and there.

"Wow, you're beautiful," he breathed.

Well, that was too much for me. I pulled him down as my face blossomed into red like the flowers he gave me. I kissed him until he shut up, but he was repeating how "beautiful" I was. So I moved to take his shirt off.

He stopped.

"Wh-what're you doing?" I asked, panicked.

"Um… There's…just something I have to show you," he replied, nervously biting his lip.

I narrowed my eyes. "Unless your penis has been cut off I don't care."

Alfred sat back. He hesitated, watching me and probably thinking I was something other than horny and impatient. Finally he pulled off his shirt.

I gasped. Not because the sight before me was so breathtaking it made my penis quiver in delight (of which I'm not saying if it really did or not), but because there was a long and red scar cutting across Alfred's midriff. It wasn't new, but it was big and jagged and red.

I sat up, a tentative hand touching it. I half expected it to be as hot as it looked, but it wasn't any different than the rest of Alfred. The skin felt a little unusual, but he wasn't hurt by my touch. I looked up at him. He was looking off to the side with an uncomfortable grimace on his face.

"This… when did you…?"

"When I was trying to save that kid," he replied. I didn't have to ask anything more.

I just leaned in and kissed his skin. He panted lightly, watching me. My fingers crawled along after my lips as I covered every inch of this scar.

"I thought you'd think I was…ugly…"

I shook my head. My hands, smaller compared to Alfred's, caressed him, and then I moved to his neck. I whispered against his skin, "It's beautiful… It proves you're alive…"

Alfred grew excited. He pulled me up to kiss him and lied atop me again. I wound my arms around his shoulders as I kissed back with as much fervor as he was giving. He nibbled on my neck as he whispered something.

"What?" I asked, breathless. I brushed his hair off of his forehead and he smiled up at me.

"I love you," he replied.

My breath caught. I hadn't heard those words spoken to me in years, platonic or not. Not even my last fling had mentioned anything other than "wanna fuck?" of which I always did because I was desperate for any attention. But Alfred, not Alfred.

"I love you too."

The evening wore on and we made love until my throat was raw. I cried for him, our bodies rocking back and forth, his moans and hands grabbing at me to keep me close. Falling asleep in his arms was the most exhilarating thing of my life.

* * *

><p>Waking in the morning I found Alfred was absent from the bed. I sat up and called his name, but felt my hips grow tight. We had gone only once, but it had been so long that I was a little rusty. I weighed my options and settled on staying in bed until he returns. He was most likely in the bathroom.<p>

The door opened soon enough and Alfred entered holding two trays with a coffee cup and two plates of breakfast. One had eggs, bacon, and hash browns while the other plate had a fresh pair of buttered toast. Alfred sat beside me where I snuggled up to his side.

"You made me tea?" I asked with a smile.

"You're lucky I have some around the place," he replied drinking his coffee. "This is the first time you've ever been over."

I nodded. "It's nice. You have good taste in bed sheets."

"Silk. Gotta love it."

We kissed and then began our meal. Sometime shortly afterwards we placed the trays aside and I straddled Alfred where I proceeded to return the same affections he showered on me the night before. I don't think I could tire of hearing his voice calling for me or whispering his adoration for me.

"Don't you have work?" I asked sometime around noon. We hadn't gotten out of bed once, except to relieve ourselves.

It was more likely we'd dive back into each other's arms than get back up.

Alfred looked up to the ceiling, annoyed that he had been reminded of his duties. Then he flashed a smile my way before reaching for his mobile on his nightstand. "I'll call Mattie and ask him to take my shift for tonight."

"Can you do that?" I asked. I toyed with his belly button while staring up at him.

I was still reeling from the beauty of his sculpted body. I'd heard the saying some men are like marble statues, but Alfred Jones was no cliché. He was the real deal. And I was lucky enough to get this man in my arms, have him hold me in his, and make sweet love to him. A man like me should not be in bed with a beautiful fireman like Alfred.

"Sure, he'll understand. He owes me anyways." Alfred gave me a wink. "Hey! Mattie! Can you do me a favor? This will make us square. I kind of have things I want to do here at home, so can you cover for today?"

I laid my head against Alfred's chest, listening to his heartbeat as he finished up his phone call with Matthew. I didn't listen in, focusing on that steady tempo beneath me. It was so strange to know that a simple matter of an organ beating brought me such peace. That I actually preferred cuddling and talking romantically for hours on end rather than shag. It certainly hadn't been that way with my flings in the past.

But I chalked that up to the affect Alfred had on me.

Alfred hung up and rolled me over so I was on my back. He loved giving me Eskimo kisses, something of which I had never been given before. It was cute. Alfred tended to do very cute things.

"Oh!" I straightened up in bed. I rested my cheek on my hand. "Did I tell you? I'm working on a new novel."

Alfred mirrored my movements and smiled widely. "No way! Is it another romance?"

I shook my head. "No. I thought I'd do a fantasy novel."

"Really? Like with sword fights and mages and stuff like that?"

I nodded. I looked off past Alfred with a nostalgic smile. Days of spring afternoons and early summer evenings in the lush greenery of my childhood returned to me. "When I was young, I often had adventures in the hills of my old hometown. There were fairies and unicorns and-"

Alfred's snorting beside me interrupted my musings. I snapped my attention to him. He blushed, putting a hand over his mouth. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"No," Alfred said with an obvious laugh to his voice. "No, go on. I'm sorry. Keep going."

"No."

"Aw, c'mon! Please!" Alfred grabbed my free hand still resting on the bed between us. "I promise I won't laugh! Tell me what it's about!"

"There's a unicorn in the story," I said flatly.

Alfred bit his lip as his cheeks puffed up, keeping back that traitorous laugh. My eyes were now slits of a glare. So Alfred tried again.

"Is there a prince in the story?"

"Yes, there is. He's the main character."

Alfred lit up. "Is he me?"

"No."

"You based him off of me, right?"

"No."

"His name is Alfred, though, right? I mean, ya gotta have his name be mine!"

"He's not you."

"But… But authors often base characters off of people they know, right? So, did you base anyone off of me?"

"No."

Around dinner time we finally got out of bed, but Alfred insisted we remain as naked as possible. I donned my underwear, but he actually stayed completely naked. I didn't mind one bit.

We didn't stay out of bed for long. After dinner we were right back in each other's arms and moaning for one another. I don't think I've ever had so much sex in one day before.

We had been snogging with roaming hands when there came a vibration coming from Alfred's nightstand. I grabbed at him to not move, but he pulled away with a laugh.

"No," I said. I didn't whine. I wouldn't do that. "Don't answer it, please."

"C'mon, you know I have to. I'm still on duty in case there's an emergency." He reached over to grab at his mobile.

"You put Matt on your shift, yeah? He's a big boy. He can handle it." Okay, I'll admit. Maybe I was a little needy this evening.

Alfred shushed me with a laugh, and then answered. I busied myself with his bare skin, leaving little kisses on his chest while I felt his heart beat against my lips. I could hear very little from the phone, but I didn't care. Nothing was important except for our bare bodies. And my ever growing need to have Alfred back on top of me.

In that moment, though, I had no idea what had just broken.

"What?" Alfred bolted up, startling me off of him. "When?"

I sat up, confused. Alfred's expression grew panicked. Color faded from those bright eyes of his and formed into dread. I knew that look. I had that look every time Alfred left for work.

Someone was hurt.

"Okay, I'll be right there." Alfred hung up. He flung the covers off of himself and clamored out of bed.

"Al? What happened?" I asked. I began getting up as well. My chair was a little ways away and while I didn't need it all the time like before, it seemed I would have to get in it if I were to keep up with Alfred. He changed in a flurry of clothes flying every which way before I could even pull my trousers back on.

"Matt," was all he said. His voice sounded distant.

My throat was dry and I said nothing in return. We dressed in silence. Once I was settled in my chair, Alfred wheeled me down to his truck. He drove with hands gripping the wheel. He always had the radio blasting, but today the minute the music came on he punched the stereo to be silent. I just sat and waited, fearing the worst.

The worst wasn't the half of it.

We reached the hospital in record time. I'm sure even an ambulance would have been impressed by the time we set. I told Alfred to go inside without me, but he was adamant that I stay by his side.

The other firemen had crowded around outside of the hospital when we had arrived. Most were covered in ash and black soot from the fire that had just come from. Others were clean, probably because they had been on the hoses. Captain Carriedo stopped Alfred before he could go inside.

"Arthur, you had better stay out here," he said. I didn't like the tone of his voice. It was too eerily like Alfred's own. Grave and detached.

I watched as Alfred slipped inside. Then I was left alone in my thoughts. They spoke of hideous events that had befallen Matthew, from burning severely to just a few broken bones and other minor injuries. I wanted to believe the latter, I desperately did.

I heard a wail that sounded too close to Alfred's voice for me to be comfortable. I struggled to get out of my wheelchair as fast as I had any time prior. The captain stood back and let me pass while the other men took their hats off and dipped their heads. I wobbled over to the door, leaning against the doorway.

A startling and cold splash of water struck me, settling into my bones and overtaking my body and soul. I watched as Alfred flung himself over what looked like a perfectly healthy looking Matthew. He was fine. Just sleeping, right? I hadn't noticed all of the wires and medical equipment that had been hooked up to his body. Nor did I hear the loud and long dead beat of his heart on the monitor by his bed.

The water struck me and I was unable to stand. All the while I worried for Alfred's well being and forgot Matthew's. The other men. My friends. They were all at risk with their job. And now, without even noticing, Matthew had died.

I turned to Antonio with a shuddering stare, asking what had happened without speaking.

Tears in his eyes he said, "It was a backdraft. He was flown… And then he just fell through the floor."

My voice creaked out, "Couldn't you…save him?"

"Not without possibly losing more men," the captain replied slowly. "We worked as fast as we could, but by then the smoke had caused Matt to pass out. We… got to him… But. There's nothing for internal bleeding."

I slid down the doorway, tears slipping out as I stared at some speck on the white linoleum. It was the only thing I could focus on. It was so insignificant, but so meaningful at the same time. That little speck that watched me back. Probably just a mark from when a stretcher was wheeled in. Perhaps it was made when Matthew came in. Before Matthew died. It saw the last few moments of his life and now was here to listen as an entire company of fireman mourned the loss of one of their own.

"Go to him," the captain whispered. He helped me to stand.

In a daze I wandered over to Alfred. The poor man was crying so hard I think he was about to hyperventilate. Slowly, I pried him away from the sleeping Matthew. Yes, just sleeping.

"Al," I mumbled. I think I said his name. Maybe I'll say it again just to be sure. "Alfred… Al… Come…Come here."

"No!" he exclaimed in a hiccup of a cry. He shook his head like a child. "No, Matt! Matt please no!"

I was too weak to do much. My legs could give out. My mind was hazy with so much and so little. The happy emotions of just a few days ago had all vanished. Funny how death took everything from you and left you with the broken pieces of what you once were.

"Alfred," I said, a little more sternly. I had to be strong for him. Yes, Matthew was a friend, but to Alfred, he was so much more. He was like his brother. He was his brother. "Alfred, please. Come here."

That time he listened. He turned and fell to his knees, as if he was the one with broken limbs. I knelt down, holding his head to my chest as he sobbed. My shirt was damp from the tears, but I didn't mind. His own head was wet from my own.

We were taken outside into the hallway until Alfred calmed down. The doctor and nurses attended to Matthew, talking to the captain, and leaving us to our own devices. I think hours or days passed. I can't remember. I sat in that impossibly white hallway, immobile as my boyfriend cried his spirit into oblivion.

Then it hit me. Alfred was supposed to be on that shift. He had asked Matthew to take over in favor of spending the evening between my legs. While Alfred and I had pleasured ourselves, Matthew had gone to that fire. He had died.

I began to weep. Not for Matthew, but from the fear. The sheer shock from the realization that this moment could have belonged to Alfred struck me as hard as seeing Matt in that bed. I could have been sitting here, alone, as I had watched my beloved die. Matthew by my side, rubbing my back and comforting me as I was hollow inside. I wept in joy that it hadn't happened.

Alfred turned and collected me in my arms. He soothed me, a monotone voice. He wasn't sure why I was crying and I had no intentions of telling him this ugly thought, but it wouldn't have mattered. Alfred's psyche had broken. He was more like a robot, just going through the motions of life without knowing why or what for.

I hated myself. I hated that Alfred had chosen me over his duty. That death had come to take away Matthew. That I was relieved to know Alfred was alive and Matthew wasn't.

Both men deserved to live. Neither was more precious than the other. But to me, Alfred was. Matthew had been my friend, but he was just a friend. Was that any reason to want one to live more than the other?

I grabbed my head, crying harder until my throat went raw. I felt ugly. After a time I had to push Alfred away and go be alone with these thoughts.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, when I had collected myself well enough, I wandered back to find Alfred. He was still sitting in those ugly brown plastic chairs, facing a white wall. An end table was filled with outdated magazines all of perfectly healthy people smiling back at you. I knocked them away and sat on the table beside him.<p>

"Alfred?" I whispered.

"I want to go home," he murmured.

"Okay. Let's go back to the truck," I said taking his hand. He remained in his seat.

"Can you come with me?"

"Of course," I replied. I ventured a smile. "My things are still there, you know."

He looked at me with flat eyes. I gulped, unsure how to handle that stare.

"No, I meant…back to Boston." Oh, I thought. Alfred took my hand. "Will you come with me?"

I tried to gulp again, but my throat was suddenly dry. Instead I grasped for some answer. Any answer. Even a rejection would suffice, but could I honestly say no to a man that had just watched his best friend die?

"Of…of course."

* * *

><p>I haven't been on a plane since I moved to America a few years ago, so I was a little nervous. Going to Boston wasn't the problem; it was the fact we were to be flying back for Matthew's funeral. The ceremony in L.A. had taken place the day after Matthew's passing. It was all over the news and a portion of the freeway closed for the funeral procession to the airport. The next day, Alfred and I boarded a plane and headed out east.<p>

The duration of the flight Alfred slept. He hadn't gotten any sleep after coming home from the hospital, insisting that I stay with him through the night. As was the case, I also had stayed up all night. Alfred managed to sleep during the turbulence for six hours; I on the other hand was wide awake.

All the confidence I had gathered in the past weeks had vanished. That single ugly thought crippled my entire being worse than the car crash. Only, there was no wheelchair for this case.

We landed without complications and Alfred hailed a taxi to take us to his parent's house. They weren't directly in Boston, but on the outskirts of the city in a small suburb. I marveled at the amount of snow they had already accumulated, suddenly missing it when it dusted the city of London now and again. Southern California didn't welcome snow that often, or any other type of weather for that matter.

Outside the window I saw the buildings tower overhead. So different from that in L.A. It was modern, yes, but still held a feel to it that dated back to colonial times. Remembering quite well what this city meant to Americans in their history I decided to remain silent about anything I would've normally brought up had this been under a different situation.

If we weren't here because of the death, I imagine Alfred and I would be beside ourselves in excitement. Alfred chattering on about his city, where he went as a teenager, the adventures he had in what part of downtown, and jumping up and down waiting to introduce me to his family. I, on the other hand, would be pretending to not be impressed by the city, and would instead make snide comments of what the city was during the American Revolution. Alfred, hopefully, would play along and we would bicker and banter all the way to the house.

But that would not happen now. Not with this gap of painful silence between us. I was nervous about meeting Alfred's family. I could only imagine what was in Alfred's head.

The taxi pulled up in front of the house a short while later. It was a quaint one-story house with brick and wood meshed together. Bushes in the front were leaning over from the snow. Bare trees lined the walk up to the house from the front sidewalk. Alfred's parent's cars were sitting with covers over them in the driveway. It was nearing twilight, so a modest porch light

"This is where you grew up?" I asked, the first time I had spoken to Alfred since departing from L.A.

Alfred nodded. He handled both our suitcases and my wheelchair, brought along just in case. I could walk quite well now, only a slightly limp here and there, but the bitter cold air made my legs feel tight and hurt where they had fractured the most.

I reached out for Alfred's hand when I almost slipped on the walk. He dropped our things and caught me. His hands were so warm on my back. He held me in a hug for a brief moment before helping me to stand upright. I held onto his arm the rest of the walk up.

Alfred knocked on the door, and soon his mother answered the door. She was shorter than I with a slightly pudgy frame, but a warm and gentle face much like her son. She had short, blonde curls that framed her face perfectly. She smelled amazingly like cinnamon cookies, but wore a hideous Christmas sweater. I knew what I'd be getting for my Christmas present.

"Alfie!" the woman cried. She pulled him into a tight hug to her chest, screaming all the while. "Oh my baby boy!"

"Hi mom," Alfred said, and I saw his shoulders relax almost instantly. I guess there's nothing like a hug from a mother, not that I'd ever know.

His mother released Alfred and turned to me, bright eyes lighting up in recognition. "And you must be Arthur! Oh dear me, those are quite the eyebrows!"

Alfred snorted. "Mom!"

I shook my head and held out a hand, face slightly red from the cold and the embarrassment. "Hello Mrs. Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mrs. Jones seemed a little surprised by my offered hand and waved it off. Instead she pulled me into an identical hug like that of one she gave Alfred. The overwhelming smell of cinnamon filled my nose. I looked over her shoulder to see Alfred giving me a shy smirk.

"Mom, he's English. They don't hug there a lot," Alfred said.

"Nonsense! I watch the BBC!" Mrs. Jones hustled us inside, and then closing the door once we were inside.

I was grateful for the warmth of the small house. A long corridor led straight into the kitchen at the far end of the house. Off to our immediate left was the living room, the television alive with the evening news. Two recliners faced the set with a bookcase on each wall, only half filled with books while the rest were photographs of the family. Behind me was a den with a computer and an office desk.

"Al!"

I turned as a booming voice much like Alfred's filled the room. A man a head taller than Alfred with dusty blonde hair came into the crowded hallway. He gave Alfred a big hug much like his wife's, patting his son's back loudly with a chuckle.

"It's good to have you home, son."

Alfred smiled sheepishly and patted his father's back. I looked to my feet. I couldn't remember a time I hugged my father that way, if ever.

"John, this is Arthur," Mrs. Jones said from behind me. She pushed me forward slightly.

Again I offered my hand, and luckily Mr. Jones took it. I wasn't sure I could handle another hug from another Jones. We were shown to Alfred's room where we were to put our belongings, and then sit down for dinner. There was no guest room, so I would have to make do with the couch.

After dumping our suitcases in the room, we were taken to the dining room, between the kitchen and living room. I admired the China cabinet until I was told to take a seat. Around me I could see old photographs from when Alfred was growing up. One, I noticed with pain, was of him and Matthew in high school.

Dinner was magnificent. A warm, home cooked meal was exactly what I needed; and Alfred apparently, as he devoured his food faster than I could comprehend.

"I missed your cooking, mom," Alfred said between bites.

"So!" Mr. Jones started, ignoring the atrocious way his son ate. He looked to me. "Arthur. Alfred tells us you moved here from England to become a writer. How's that going for you?"

I blushed. Alfred had talked about me to his parents? Well he had to have to some extent if they knew my name when I arrived. I wondered if they knew exactly what kind of couple we were.

I began to explain my first book, and then moved to explain about my newest fantasy story. Thankfully, Alfred never spoke up once. A sting of pain hit my stomach as I remembered the last time I talked about my new story. I decided to cover my sudden sorrow by coughing and then reaching for the wine Mrs. Jones had been so gracious to provide.

Then, Mrs. Jones asked, "Your third month is coming up isn't it?"

Well, now I knew what they knew of our relationship. I wasn't sure how I felt about this revelation, honestly. It was a relief to know I didn't have to tip toe around the issue, but at the same time it was a little embarrassing to know Alfred had told his parents so openly about our private life.

"It's this weekend," Alfred said with a smile. He looked at me, and I looked away. I wanted to share that weekend with just him, but I knew we'd be here for at least a week.

"You should take him to Boston that day. Show him around. Maybe see a hockey ga…"

Mr. Jones ducked his head. I saw Mrs. Jones take a long swing from her glass of wine and then wipe at a tear. Alfred remained emotionless, as if the words had never left his father's mouth. He stared at me, but I was cutting into my steak. I didn't want to think that hockey was now a taboo event.

"Arthur, how do your parents feel about Alfred?" Mrs. Jones asked me suddenly.

Ah, this dinner is fun. Going from one horrific topic to the next.

But Alfred stepped in. "Um, mom…Arthur has spoken to his parents in years. They don't get along."

Her hands flew to her face in shock. "Oh! Oh dear, I am so sorry!"

I held up a hand, offering a polite smile. "Really, it's ok. It doesn't bother me. I never really had a family, to be honest. The fact they kicked me out was a long time coming."

Alfred looked at me sadly. He had heard enough of my family woes to know that it wasn't a complete lie. I did know my family didn't like me, but I had hoped they loved me. Disowning me proved me wrong.

"Then you can be a Jones," Mr. Jones declared.

I bit into my fork rather than the meat, and cringed away from the utensil in pain. The family laughed. I felt a warm hand on my knee. Across the table, Alfred was smiling at me; the first one he'd given since Matthew died.

* * *

><p>That night Alfred pulled me into his bedroom. He couldn't sleep alone. I reminded him that his parents disapproved of this, but he said he'd deal with them come morning. Sleeping with Alfred now wasn't the same. There was some familiarity that the first time we had been in each other's arms was violently ripped apart by the tragedy. Or maybe it was guilt.<p>

Either way, in the morning I stumbled out of the bedroom in the early morning. There was tea, thank God. If there hadn't been I might have risked my sanity and actually gone out in that snow to the nearest market to buy myself some. My legs would not have been happy.

They were about as happy this chipper morning as an eight year old's legs. I considered getting my chair, but then I saw the fireplace was lit. I rushed over to it, clutching my tea, and settled right before it. I didn't even pause to think why the fireplace had been lit when no one should have been awake. It was barely five.

But then Mrs. Jones came from the bathroom. She was wearing a robe over her night gown.

"Good morning," I said while I stifled a yawn.

"Can't sleep?" she asked. She took a spot on her chair near me. I nodded. "I haven't slept well since we heard of the accident."

It was quiet. I stared at the flames, dancing and living and then dying before me. It was strange to think that this fire that seemed so meek could become something so monstrous that it stole a precious life from us all and now our lives weren't the same because of it. If it wasn't for the fact my legs desperately needed something resembling the Californian dry winter, I would put this fire out and walk away, never to look at the area the rest of my stay.

A thought occurred to me. I'm not sure why I thought to turn to Alfred's mother and share with her my ugliest thought, but I did anyways.

"Alfred was supposed to be on that shift that night," I said. My voice sounded odd in that still room.

Mrs. Jones stared at me, the same expression Alfred had at dinner last night. She wasn't sure how to react, but really what face could you give to that kind of news?

"He stayed at home, with me, and asked Matthew to take the shift for him," I continued. I looked down at my hands and found them shaking. "When I realized this… I was so happy… Happy that it was Matt and not Alfred and that Alfred was still with me… But then I felt like some demon for thinking such a thing. Matthew was my friend. But… And yet…"

I began to weep into my hands. I felt Mrs. Jones lay a hand on my back, rubbing lightly. It was terrible of me to pour something so deep and personal on her after knowing her less than twenty-four hours, but when Mr. Jones said I was part of the family, I guess I just felt more at ease with the parents. Enough to say my secrets aloud.

"I thought the same thing," she whispered. "When Alfred first became a fireman, I didn't know what to do. I was terrified. What if the last time I saw him was really the last? What if he came home with burns, broken limps, or died? It all drove me crazy. Knowing that he had dodged another potential injury just… When he was hurt all those years ago on one of his first missions in L.A., I couldn't be there for him.

"I wanted to go to my baby's side and hold his hand, tell him that the doctor would give him candy for all the hard work he did. I couldn't. Even if he were here and he had been hurt, I still couldn't. Because I have to let it go. Just like that thought I had of 'Thank you Jesus for sparing my son'."

I lifted my head and looked at her. In the fire light she seemed so much older than she had looked before. When I met her she looked like she had stepped out of a Christmas card, like one of Mrs. Claus. Now she seemed like anyone's grandmother. Full of wisdom and years beyond our own.

"That's how it goes with death, even if Alfred wasn't a fireman, death can come at any time." Mrs. Jones looked at me. "As I understand it, you two met when you were very injured. You could have died if Alfred hadn't rushed in to save you. I'm sure he worries for your safety as well."

I remembered when I was in the hospital from those punks punching my broken legs. He had cried for me.

My heart clenched. I put down my tea as my hands began to shake.

"Then… how do you let it go?" I asked faintly.

"I cherish every moment I have with him," she replied. She sounded so much like what I figured a mother to sound like. I leaned closer to her. "You're there with him. I'm not, but I have more years of him in my head to keep me happy. You take as much as you can with him. Love him. Protect him. He needs you. He loves you."

"And I love your son." I was surprised I had said that to Alfred's own mother, but she didn't seem fazed at all. Alfred had already told me how accepting his parents were of his homosexuality.

"I'm glad," she said after a moment. "He needs a man like you. You keep him in check. Every time Alfred calls he talks about you and only about you. I can tell you've had an impact on him. Maybe now he'll slow down in life. He's always been the one to rush into things and constantly passed everything by."

I chuckled. "Yes, he does seem to leap before he looks."

I looked back to the fire and picked up my tea. "Alfred's also had an impact on me as well, though, Mrs. Jones…"

* * *

><p>The week went well. The only day I worried was the day of Matthew's funeral. I met his mother with a heavy heart. She had lost her husband to lung cancer a few years prior, and now she was burying her only son as well. It was a terrible loss, and everyone was the most considerate to her.<p>

She, however, seemed to be more concerned for Alfred's well being. It was sweet that she fussed over him so much, but I could tell Alfred wanted nothing more than to be alone during the wake. I led Alfred out into his backyard where he showed me the old swing set he couldn't let his parents throw away. It was rusty and didn't seem safe, but Alfred swung on them nonetheless. I stood back in silence and looked at the white oblivion around us.

The weekend brought our third month. Alfred seemed well enough to keep to his father's suggestion, and he took me into the city of Boston for a romantic night out. However, like sleeping it was stained with the thought of what our first date had been like. We had come home, made glorious love, and then woke to Matthew's death.

I was determined not to have that happen. I didn't want all of our first memories to be tarnished. I wanted to love them as much as I loved Alfred.

We went to a museum, not very romantic, but we enjoyed it. Then he showed me to downtown where I soaked up the history surrounding me. Alfred seemed to enjoy himself, but when I caught him staring off into the distance for what I thought was far too long, I would pull him away. I didn't want him lingering on thoughts of when he and Matthew were together.

Eventually we went for food and then our movie we agreed to see at night. Alfred's parents, bless them, had agreed to leave the house in case we wanted to get a little intimate. They went to play Bridge with Matthew's mother until ten. We came home an hour before they were to, but neither of us wanted to do anything more than lie in his bed.

I had stripped, not bothering with pajamas, so that Alfred could stroke me. His hands, so big and rough, were comforting to me, tingling with every touch. It soothed him too as he traced his hands along my hips and ribs, eyes following. After a time, Alfred joined me in lying beside me with nothing on.

It was wonderful to be so bare and trust the other not to hurt you. How could he? He was my hero.

I took Alfred's hand in mine and pulled him to my chest. "Alfred. I want you to cry. You haven't since the hospital. Please cry, my love."

"I hate crying…," he grumbled.

I stroked the back of his head. "I know… But you need to let it out. I'm…I'm worried about you…"

I felt tears sprinkle my skin. He shuddered into my body, practically collapsing as he mourned again. It was a long time coming. I was worried all day, practically all week, given how silent and withdrawn he would become. I know everyone mourns the dead differently, but it bothered me to see my shiny boy become so dull.

"It's my fault," he mumbled. I pulled his face away to look at him, not surprised by his words. "It's all my fault."

"It is not," I started.

Alfred shook his head. "It is…! I changed the… I should've gone…!"

"And then what? Left me alone?" I tried to make him feel better, but he saw the tears prickling my eyes. "No, I won't let you leave me. You will never leave me. Only death can take you from me."

Alfred closed his eyes and cried harder. He promised to never leave and swore his love for me. I reassured him that I was still here and that I loved him too.

We cried together in his bed, surrounded by those stupid comic book heroes he worshiped and facing away from the sole picture of Alfred with Matthew back when they were ten. They had come back from a fishing trip, both with brilliant catches and wide smiles, arms around the other's neck.

As the night wore on and Alfred's parents returned home, we stayed awake. We were up all night, just talking. Alfred talked mostly of Matthew, while I told him of my family. It was painful, but we needed it. I had no idea how much pain Alfred could soak up in that smile of his.

All the times he was jealous of Matthew for his good looks (ones I reminded Alfred he had as well seeing as they looked like twins), all the fights they got into but never resolved, the anger he had towards my family for leaving me, the fears he had of his own job. And of me.

"Your mum said that you fear I could die too," I said after having confessed my three month long fear that consumed my body. "Why?"

Alfred blushed. "Well… I know you're strong."

"Strongest chap you know, right?"

He grinned. "Yeah. And you don't need my help. But there are times I just… I don't know. I want to protect you. I want to keep you by me. I get worried when I can't see you or know that you're okay."

"Was this because of my wheelchair?" I asked.

Alfred nodded. "Ever since you got the casts off I've felt better. I'm not as worried."

"Unfortunately it will take a long time for me to accept that you could very well never come home." Just admitting that aloud dug a hole into my chest. I gasped for air.

Alfred pulled my face up so that I could look into his eyes. "Arthur, I won't die. I promise you. I will never leave you."

How I wanted to believe him. Here in this room, in this very moment, naked and bare before him. Nothing between us anymore. He knew more about me than anyone and I of him. I could hold him and know he wouldn't run, wouldn't push or pull away. He'd remain right there.

I wanted to believe him.

And so I did.

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: Terribly sorry to kill of Matt. I do love him, I really do, but I knew this had to go into the story for Arthur to face his fear of Alfred dying.

Minor changes made on the last chapter. My spell check got a word wrong, then the same word had to be changed on a review recommendation, then a second review pointed out that it was still wrong. Upon further inspection, the latter reviewer was right and the final change was made. Haha.

Only one chapter left. My other series _Rainbow Veins_ will continue updating, and there will be a new series starting soon as well called _Run_. I hope you come back for more!


	4. July

The sweltering summer of L.A. always took its toll on me. I had been living in California long enough to understand that it didn't always have seasons like that in England, or seasons at all really, but I hadn't adjusted to such dry and hot summers. Alfred told me that I was lucky I didn't have to deal with humidity, and I agreed.

Eight months we had been together. We celebrated this shortly after Alfred's birthday. We kept this birthday rather low-key with just a party at the station. One of the fireman's wife's had baked Alfred a cake and the rest of us made side dishes. I wasn't allowed in the kitchen, so I was put on decoration duty. I left an empty seat beside Alfred with the label _Matthew Williams_. Alfred choked up when he saw the chair and not a single person sat it in all night long.

It was hard to believe he was actually gone. Sometimes it would take me by surprise as I'd be doing something in the middle of the day or when I lie in bed just letting my mind wander. It was something I just didn't constantly think about. Alfred, however, still carried the burden on his shoulders almost as if he had personally killed Matthew, and to him, he had.

While I dealt with my therapy in December and into January I also dealt with the most emotional Alfred I'd ever seen. His moping had gotten to the point it affected his work performance. Captain Carrideo called to see me one day and asked if there was anything I could do. If going home to see his family didn't help, I didn't know what little else help I could be.

We fought. Oh did we ever fight. At times it seemed the end one day, and a whole new beginning the next. Many days and sleepless nights I couldn't handle everything that had fallen onto my lap. And yet we remained together. I loved him more and more each day, wishing to be in his arms the moment I was out, and crying if we parted after a nasty feud.

Both of us were happy to see winter leave. Alfred had his own personal guilt to tackle while I had my own physical problems. We were both there for each other as best we could be, but there were days I snapped at Alfred to leave me alone. I didn't want to hear him cry about how he was a terrible person for killing Matthew. And he, thinking I was insensitive, would yell at me to stop being such a "hard ass", as he put it.

And then, just as if we had met for the first time, Alfred arrived at my house with flowers and an "I love you" card. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him and he smiled that stupid and lovely grin of his. I told him I loved him and I'm sorry, and he did the same and all was forgiven.

It was a much needed reboot for our relationship.

After that our moods improved. I was over therapy completely and could walk just fine. Even cold days didn't bother me too much anymore. Alfred had dealt with the loss as best he could. He returned home for his mother's birthday in April, this time without me, and upon arriving back in L.A. he seemed much more his cheery self.

So I bought him flowers.

That night I had appeared at his doorstop with a rose arrangement Alfred had teared up. He took his glasses off and wiped at "something stuck in my eye" before telling me this was the best gift he'd ever been given. My chest warmed as he pulled me into a tight hug.

"You're such a child," I had said, kissing his cheek.

Now it was mid-July and I was pacing my flat waiting on good news. My mobile was in my hand as I mentally demanded it ring. In the background was my television with some show on low volume mumbling in the background to create noise in the quiet space.

My mobile rang and I answered before the first ring would finish. I hated sounding eager, but it wasn't as if I were waiting for someone to ask me out on a date. This was a matter of my job.

"Hello? Nancy?" I answered.

"…Arthur?"

That was not a woman's voice. It was Jamie's. Why was he calling me? There was no need for another firefighter to call me. I had only one firefighter in my life. And he was safe and sound.

Yes.

"…Jamie," I said slowly.

He hesitated and I found myself standing in one spot with the colors all around me blurring. I dropped the phone as I heard the words I didn't want to hear. No matter how many months since my last trip to the hospital had prepared me, I just didn't want to hear it. I couldn't hear it.

"You had better come to the hospital. There's been an accident."

If the hospital had been close I would have run, but as such I had to rely on my car. And traffic. California traffic was difficult enough, but Los Angeles traffic was downright disgusting. I managed to evade the worst of it by taking side streets that would normally add more time, but were relatively clutter free now.

Dashing into the hospital was a part of my memory that's filled with more a numbed anxiety and dulled senses more than an actual vivid image. I recall someone telling me to not run, but I obviously didn't pay them any mind. I reached the group of firemen standing in the waiting room. The captain tried to stop me, but I wouldn't hear it. He could tell me that Alfred was magically healed and I was overreacting for all I cared, but I had to see him for myself.

At first my mind flashed to Matthew lying in that bed and the heart monitor screaming his death, when in fact there was a steady rhythm and Alfred was popping ice cream in his mouth happily. He had his left foot up in a cast and his left hand in its own mini cast. Other than that he seemed perfectly fine.

"A-A-Alfred?" I breathed.

He looked over and smiled. "Arthur! Hey babe!"

I stumbled over my feet as I dashed to be by his side. I all but flung myself across the bed, forgoing any sense of my normal composure. I had just thought for the past fifteen minutes that my Alfred was seriously injured. Had I known he was perfectly fine and slurping down melted ice cream I would have paused to at least turn off the telly or gotten him flowers. Instead I cried on his shoulder, complimenting and insulting him at once, and kissing his neck until I felt satisfied.

"I told you to wait," I heard from the doorway. The captain had come in, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "I was going to tell you he's fine. Just minor burns and a broken foot and twisted wrist."

"The way Jamie said it on the phone sounded like he was seriously injured," I replied as I wiped at my face and straightened up. Still, I kept a hand on his, just to feel calm.

"Well, Jamie was shaken up," Antonio replied. "We all were. We lost one boy, we couldn't lose another."

Alfred looked at his lap bashfully. "I was unconscious and I had fallen like Matt had, so…"

I squeezed his hand, looking at the window to hide the threat of tears. "Yes, well you're an idiot…"

"At least I saved the little girl," he said happily. He resumed eating his ice cream.

"A little girl?" I turned around and smiled at him. "How noble of you…"

Antonio snuck out after a time. I was preoccupied watching over Alfred. My fingers stroked his hair, grateful the blonde locks hadn't been singed. There was still soot dusty his rosy cheeks and I brushed them affectionately.

Eventually Alfred placed his ice cream aside. I drew on his cast, as per his request, and bought him flowers. This time it was the same flowers he had first brought me while I was injured: blue and purple flowers. And I didn't forget the Get Well Card.

"C'mere," Alfred said in a low voice as he pulled me down to kiss him.

I shifted to sit on his bed, holding his hand. Kissing was lovely, as it always was, but right now I just wanted to be near Alfred. The adrenaline rush from earlier had drained me. Sitting in the chair next to his bed would've kept me content. Then again, kissing was even closer and more of an assurance that this wasn't some dream my mind had concocted and I wasn't out in the hallway a raging mess.

"Oh! Am I interrupting something?"

We hurriedly broke our kiss. I ducked my head as my ears heated up. Alfred allowed the man at the doorway to enter, and I heard him speak, this time really listening to his voice.

"Forgive me," he said.

I turned in horror. "No. It can't be."

A man with shoulder length blonde hair and light stubble smiled pleasantly at me. His blue eyes lit up in recognition. Of course it was my luck of the day.

"Francis Bonnefoy," I said flatly.

"Arthur Kirkland," he replied with a sly smile.

"Alfred Jones!" We both looked at Alfred as he smiled obliviously from his spot on the bed. "What? I didn't want to be left out!"

I returned my attention to Francis. "What are you doing here? I thought I'd seen the last of you."

"Yes well stranger things have happened," he started with a brush of his hair. Unfortunately he stepped further into the room. "Your boyfriend here has saved my life."

I chuckled with a smug look. "He said he saved a little girl."

"He did," Francis said, ignoring me. "My daughter."

"What?"

I wasn't sure what I was more surprised at; the hilarity of the situation that my past intermingled with my present, that Francis had a daughter, or that he had actually settled down enough to have a child in the first place.

Well, first I had to double check his ring finger. He might've adopted the girl with his gay lover. I knew Francis had been anything-sexual, but it was still astonishing to see he had chosen just one female in the entire population of the Earth. Sure enough, there was a ring. Homosexual marriages were still outlawed in this state.

"Wait, how do you two know each other?" Alfred asked before I could comment on Francis' marital status.

I sighed. Without looking at him I waved a hand out towards Francis. "He's my ex-boyfriend."

Alfred's eyes widened. Then he furrowed his brow. A hand moved out to take mine and pull me close protectively. "You mean the guy who threw you out…?"

Francis frowned. "I did not throw him out. I couldn't afford rent and I told him he had to move. He took it to mean…" He stopped and waved a hand in the air as if to disperse smoke. "What's past is past. I am a married man and it seems Arthur has found a replacement of his own."

I turned to pick a fight, my index finger ready to poke Francis in the chest, but I managed to catch myself upon seeing a young girl poke her head around the corner. She had long brown hair in braids and glasses that teetered on the edge of her nose. She seemed so meek and shy, quite the opposite of her father.

"Papa?" she asked quietly.

Francis turned and held his arms out. "Ah! _Viens ici ma belle_."

The small girl must have been no older than six as she ran happily into Francis' arms. He scooper her up, resting her against his chin. He pecked the top of her head. She smiled and closed her eyes.

"This is my daughter, Marie," Francis introduced. "Marie, Arthur and Alfred."

Marie opened her eyes. She focused on first me and then Alfred. She recognized Alfred as a smile lit up her face. She held up her hand, fingers closing in and then opening in a cute wave. Alfred mimicked her as he smiled widely.

"Hi there Marie," he said affectionately. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. Her voice was laced with a thick French accent. "Yes… Thank you…for saving me…Mister Alfred."

"Aw, it was nothing sweetie. And don't worry, I'm not that hurt. I'll be up in no time!" Alfred held up his good arm and flexed it.

Marie giggled, although I'm not sure how much of it she understood. She then reached out her arms to him. Francis lifted her over and set her down on Alfred's bed. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her with his eyes closed.

Somehow, in that moment, Alfred's mourning period was over. Marie was not Marie, but a little Canadian that he had grown up with all of his life.

Francis took Marie back after a moment and told her to find her mother, all in French. She nodded and thanked Alfred again. Then she skipped out of the room. It was amazing she had no injuries, not even the slightest scrape. Alfred had thrown his entire body over her to protect her.

I placed my hand on his, and he looked at me. I whispered, "Such a hero…"

"Now then!" Francis exclaimed as he turned his attention back to us. "Alfred, is there anything I can do? I would love to do something to show my gratification."

Alfred held up a hand. The same smile was on his face. "No. Really. I'm just glad she's safe."

"There is something I'd like to know," I started. "What are you doing in America? L.A. for that matter?"

Francis reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it over to me. "I work for the L.A. Times as a senior journalist."

My jaw dropped. "You?"

"Yes, yes, I know. It is hard to believe." He was smug, the bastard. "I recall you moved here to break out into the writing industry, yes?"

My face reddened. How dare he? He knew very well why I had moved here. Part of that was his fault.

"He's got a new book coming out!" Alfred exclaimed. He beamed proudly at me, taking my hand. "He's just waiting on the word from the printers that it's finished. It's coming out this month!"

Francis eyebrows rose. "Really? Well that's wonderful news. I am rooting for you. Is it child friendly? I shall buy it and read it to Marie."

"It has unicorns and princes!" I closed my eyes at Alfred's innocent declaration. He was so proud he forgot to keep himself reserved.

Francis would look for anything to tease me about. And he knew just how much I used to be involved in fairytales and mythological creatures when we dated. I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes and look at Francis for fear of that taunting expression to return.

Instead he said, "How exciting. I will have to buy it now."

I opened my eyes in surprise. Was Francis actually acting like a decent human being? I'll admit even as we dated he had a long streak of being downright cruel to me. The fights I had with Alfred were nothing in comparison to the ones I would get into with Francis. Somehow that was what drew me to him. He stood up to me and I to him. So when our feuds got out of hand, instead of apologizing and discussing the problems that sparked this incident, we would just have sex and all would be forgiven.

That was why Alfred was different. It's not that we didn't have sex often (because we did), it was that it wasn't a critical part of our relationship. It was balanced. We were balanced.

Also, my confidence was much higher than it had been when I was with Francis. At the time I was still hiding myself from my own family. Things at home were also rapidly deteriorating. I felt lost in the world, wandering to and from Francis' arms with never a clear explanation as to how come everything was being thrown out. Why my life was slipping between my fingers even as I grasped at the pieces that I thought I understood. Turns out, I didn't understand anything.

It struck me odd to see how much Francis and I had changed. When we broke up I could hardly stand to look at him, let alone be in the same room as him. Even thinking about him was painful enough to take my breath away. But here we stood, our lives so vastly different, and yet not all that different. He had become successful in journalism like he wanted, and he had a family.

Meanwhile I was finally making a name for myself in the writing industry. I didn't know, nor did I care, how big I would become, but the fact was I wasn't shying away from the difficulty. I was doing it. And I had a boyfriend. One that I loved dearly. My hero. My flower boy.

Francis cleared his throat after a moment. "If you wouldn't mind, Alfred, I would love to do an article on you about this incident."

"An article?" he asked. "What do you mean? Like you write about how I saved your daughter?"

"Yes, yes, exactly." Francis nodded. He had produced a small notebook and pen from seemingly nowhere and already occupied the empty chair. He crossed his legs in expectation, pulling out reading glasses. "I'd talk of your company too, of course, but I'd like to talk about you. You are my hero."

Alfred straightened up. I rolled my eyes. Here we go.

"Well, I mean! Sure! Ask away!"

A few hours later and Alfred was released. His injuries were not serious. He was given crutches for his foot. His wrist was only sprained and would need a wrist guard for a few weeks. Even his burns were minimal to what they could have been if he hadn't stopped, dropped, and rolled. I called him heroic once more as I took him home and I think his head exploded with ego.

I arrived at my own apartment by night. Sitting on the doorstep was a package in brown wrapping and tied with twine. A white piece of paper was on top that said, "_Heard you were at the hospital. Maybe this will cheer you up. Hope all is well."_ It was from Nancy.

I tore it open before even going inside. I knew that I would turn around and rush right back to Alfred's.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked, confused. He had just opened the door to me and furrowed his brow. "Is everything all right?"

I kissed Alfred and came inside. I clutched the package in my arms. "Everything is just perfect, my love."

"What's that?" Alfred took a seat on the couch, pointing at the brown paper. "Did you get something?"

"I got more than something." I held out the book to him. "I got my book!"

Alfred snatched the book and whooped in joy! He touched the cover, fingers tracing my name, and then smiled up at me. "This is the coolest thing I have ever seen!"

I was giddy with excitement, stress, relief, love, pride, I wasn't sure. So much in the past twelve hours, a mixture of good and bad. But this, this book, this 500 page book now sat on Alfred's lap.

Quickly I moved to get a pen and took the book in my arms. I opened to the first few pages where the dedication was and scribbled my name and a small note. Then I handed it back to him.

Alfred sat silently as he read my note and the dedication.

_To Matthew Williams._

_You will never be forgotten._

Then, underneath in my writing I had written,

_And to my Alfred Jones. I love you._

Alfred pulled my down and hugged me. We laughed and I think he cried a little and just kept the book between us, talking about its contents. Alfred was sad to see I hadn't named the prince after him, as I told him months ago. None of the characters were named after anyone I knew and there were no events that connected to my life.

That's not what I wanted this story to be about.

My last story had been my desires. What I had hoped a man would mean to me and what he could do to me. That had come true with Alfred here beside me. This story was a fantasy. A world that I had escaped to when little and alone and feeling neglected in this world. Why would I want to connect anything to that world?

It was one I no longer had to escape to.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked after a time. He stroked my hair as he nuzzled against my cheek. "Babe… Would you… Would you like to move in with me?"

I pulled my face back and looked him in the eyes. They were clear and blue, his glasses off to the side as I had taken them off some time ago. He looked so young and beautiful and untouched when underneath I knew he had a scar and burns and a tattered heart. And I loved every bit of it because he had loved me back and done so much more than I ever thought possible.

I smiled, stroked his cheek, and then nodded without saying anything. My smile grew wider until I showed teeth. He laughed and hugged me. He hurriedly whispered his love for me. I kissed his cheek in return.

Come morning I had returned to my flat to begin boxing things up, but I returned to Alfred soon enough to help him around the house. He wasn't as incapacitated as I had been, but it was still something that made me feel good. He had helped me so much that it was only natural that I do the same for him in return. Alfred didn't mind. He just lay on the couch with a relaxed smile.

He would be out of work until his injuries had healed. Time off was a good thing for him.

Shortly after lunch our libidos had begun to get the better of us. Alfred pulled me down on top of him, an arm resting on the small of my back, and I kissed him into the pillow.

Then, the phone rang. My tongue was practically down his throat by now. I was not answering it. Alfred didn't move to answer either. Instead he tried to pull my shirt off, and I obliged him. My eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his fingers on my skin. With one hand in a splint he couldn't be as adventurous as he normally was, but I didn't mind. I understood.

The answer machine picked up after it stopped ringing. Then, Francis voiced filled the apartment.

"_Bonjour! _It is Francis! Alfred, I sent the story to my editor and she wants me to change it. She wants me to write about you and Arthur!"

I broke the kiss to look over at the phone as if Francis was actually standing there. Alfred pushed me up and told me to answer it.

"What?" I asked as I picked up the phone, halting the recording.

"Oh ho! Am I interrupting something again?" Francis laughed.

"What do you mean you want to write about us?" I asked, ignoring him and my warm cheeks.

"The paper has been looking for a good story about a homosexual relationship to bring to the masses for ages. We had a few, but none really caught the readers' eyes. Too unusual or too bland or something. But my editor is convinced that your relationship is the perfect mixture of romance and normalcy that the people will connect with it!" Francis had talked faster the longer he explained. "We want to use you to bring a good light to the homosexual community, get people more used to the idea that two men in a relationship are just as normal as a man and a woman in one."

I was a private man, especially after the park back in November. I didn't exactly feel comfortable letting the Los Angeles area know that I was dating one of their firemen. My editor and publisher might not like the idea either. It was already rather risky when my first book had my sexuality mentioned in my biography, but since I hadn't made very many waves with the publication, no one seemed to care. But Alfred was a hero. He had appeared in the newspaper more than once and people respect and loved him.

That might change if they knew he batted for the other team.

Not only that but I was concerned about the fact Francis said we'd be a story for all of homosexuals. As if we were some headliner. What would that exactly entail? I didn't want to be pulled to do appearances for those in need of adjusting, such as Allied or LGBT meetings. I wasn't that kind of man, and Alfred was far too busy for such things. The few times he went with a crew mate to explain how to properly evacuate a fire in a building in front of school children was the extent of his talks.

"I…I don't know. I'll have to ask my publisher and editor and Alfred will have to give his consent as well. His captain might not like it."

"Of course! Of course!" Francis said casually. "You have my card. Call me when you have all the agreements in order!"

Then, he hung up. I looked at the phone, and then placed it back on the hanger. I walked over to Alfred. He was sitting up now.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

I sat down and tried to wrap my head around the situation. I wasn't sure how I could explain everything clearly. Instead, I looked at Alfred and said, "We need to make a few phone calls."

* * *

><p>"Arthur! It's here!" Alfred exclaimed. He hobbled into the kitchen where I was making tea. He held out the newspaper excitedly. "It's finally here!"<p>

I laughed as he flung the paper onto the table, acting like it was Christmas. Actually, he was more excited today than he had been Christmas morning.

"Alfred, it's nothing special. Really," I said, trying to reason. "You're in the paper multiple times."

"Yeah, but you aren't!" he said happily. I tried not to wince at his statement, but he was right. "Where is it? Come on, where's the local section? AHA! Here we go!"

I sputtered on my tea as I saw the front of the paper. It was a picture of me and Alfred sitting here in the kitchen. It had only been taken yesterday, but the entire interview seemed so long ago. Francis had come by around noon, a day after he called to change the article. My publisher and editor were all for the publicity, while Captain Carriedo didn't mind as it was up to Alfred to make his own decision.

"Read it, Artie!" Alfred told me. He thrust the paper to me. "Please? You sound so eloquent!"

I rolled my eyes, but took the paper. "You only say that because you like my accent."

"That's exactly what I mean. Now read."

I thought him a fool, but loved him all the same. I took a sip of tea as I read the article.

**Love in the Hospital  
><strong>_Written by Francis Bonnefoy_

_Not many would think that a romance could begin when in a car accident and a fireman saved your life, but for Arthur Kirkland (ft. right, 25) that was exactly what had happened. Alfred Jones (ft. left, 22) is a local known hero firefighter that I recently came to meet by him saving my five-year old daughter, Marie, in a tragic fire this past Monday. Jones sustained minor injuries and was able to leave the hospital the same day as when he entered._

_I sat down with the couple of eight months to ask about their relationship as it seems very unusual for a firefighter and a writer to meet and fall in love under the grave state of their initial meeting._

_Kirkland had been in a harrowing four-car accident back in October of last year on the 5. It was then that Jones rushed to the car to free him before his car caught on fire. Kirkland had fractured both of his legs and was to be in a wheelchair for at least two months._

"_I brought him flowers every day," Jones said of his early days of knowing Kirkland. "I think that was what attracted him to me."_

_Kirkland commented that he kept the flowers when he was released from the hospital. "When I had therapy in December he brought me more."_

_But it's not all roses with the couple. They reported that once they had been accosted while out on a date by a group of teenagers that assaulted Kirkland. Since then, they have kept their relationship a secret. However, Jones' company is very open to the couple and has welcomed Kirkland into the group as one of their own._

"_They are very brave," Kirkland commented with a smile. "Every single one of them have put their lives on the line… They are dear friends."_

_One of their dearest friends, however, has…_

I paused, gulping as I read the next line with great difficulty.

_Has been killed in the line of duty. December of last year, Matthew Williams was killed. He was honored and then flown back to Boston where his widowed mother still lives. Williams was a childhood friend of Jones and they became firemen together here in L.A. upon moving four years ago._

I glanced up at Alfred, but he didn't seem to react as I thought he would. I continued reading aloud.

"_It was a hard time for me," Jones said. He was sitting beside Kirkland during the interview and held his hand as he recalled the December tragedy. "Some days I didn't think I could get up, but Arthur was always there for me. He helped me stand up and get over the guilt."_

_Kirkland had his own problems to deal with. He had moved to America only two years ago after having been disowned by his own family for his sexuality. "Before I met Alfred I had a lot of self-esteem problems. I had moved to this country… and was still having a difficult time adjusting."_

_Kirkland is a…_

Again I paused, but this time in surprise. My eyes read the line before I actually said anything aloud, just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"What is it?" Alfred asked. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head and said, "Kirkland is a…talented writer…whose abilities have yet to shine through… His first book was published early last year and didn't get much attention. His second book is set to debut this month."

Alfred smiled and patted my hand. "That was nice of him."

"It is…," I whispered. Francis had said he hadn't read my book, so how was he to know of my writing ability? He had actually complimented me. Right here in the L.A. Times. That bastard.

I smiled and finished reading the end of the article.

_Currently the couple is happily living together. When asked about marriage, Kirkland said, "It's too early for that. We can't even think about it, especially as it is still illegal in the state."_

_Jones however said, "One day. I'd like that. Arthur means everything to me."_

_For now, Jones continues to bring Kirkland flowers and Kirkland visits the fire station when he can._

"_I believe I will always love him," Kirkland said. Jones was out of the room at the time of this statement._

I choked. "He said he wouldn't print that!"

Alfred laughed. "Always, huh?"

"Sh-shut up!" I stuttered. "Let me finish."

"_Alfred has brought back my confidence. He saved me. He'll always be my hero, even if he's no longer a fireman. I don't think of us as a man and a man, I think of us as a couple in love. We are together and I hope we always can be. I love him."_

I put the paper down in silence. My face was an embarrassing shade of red, like the roses on the kitchen counter. How dare Francis write that? It was true, but I didn't want Alfred to hear such things. If I did it would be when the moment caught up with me and I had no idea what I was really saying. Now all of Los Angeles had seen my sappy declaration.

"I love you too," Alfred said. He smiled at me and pulled me over for a kiss. "I will always love you…"

We kissed and kissed and melted into each other's arms and oh how I loved him. He whispered if I meant what I said and I nodded. He kissed me again and said he loved me all the more. I returned the sentiments with more kisses.

Then, the phone rang again. I thought it was Francis again. I wasn't sure if I should thank him or not, even though I wasn't truly mad at him.

"Let me answer that," I said. I moved to the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Arthur Kirkland?" a woman asked.

"Speaking," I replied. Had it begun? Was I to be called now and hassled by homophobic assholes or was I to be called in to make appearances?

"Hello, this is Betsy Fairfield with the San Francisco Chronicle. I saw the article in the L.A. Times about your relationship with your boyfriend. We would love to get a scoop about you two as well."

My face must have looked horrified rather than surprise for Alfred almost jumped out of the chair to reach me. I put a hand up to stop him. I heard a beep through the phone of a call waiting.

"Um, excuse me. May I put you on hold? Another call is coming in."

I beeped over to the other line. "Hello, is this Arthur Kirkland? I'm from the Seattle Times and we'd love to…"

My mobile vibrated on the table. Alfred moved to answer it. But shortly after he had answered, another phone call came in on his own cell phone.

Within an hour, we had received over twenty phone calls. Other newspapers, magazines, and television studios all asking to get an interview with us. Then, when we thought it was good and done, I had received a phone call from my editor, Nancy.

"The phones are off the hook today!" she exclaimed. "We've had people asking about you all day!"

It was all good publicity and I was to come in to the office tomorrow to see Nancy personally. Alfred pulled me to his lap as we laughed happily. It was amazing. We were suddenly loved rather than hated as I feared. I was still hesitant in the sudden push into the limelight, but it would only be for a short amount of time. We'd fade into the background soon enough.

Later that night, Alfred and I had celebratory sex.

The next morning when I entered the publishing headquarters I could see everyone was still answering phone calls and rushing about in a panicked frenzy. Nancy called me into her office.

"We want you to do another book," she said. "Your last one has flown off the shelves!"

I nearly fainted. "B-but I just put it out yesterday!"

Nancy laughed with her arms up in the air. "I KNOW! It seems the article yesterday boosted your sales tenfold!"

"B-but, I don't know what I would write about. I don't have a sequel in mind and all of these past events have been a whirlwind. I'll have to…"

Nancy interrupted me. She sat before me on her desk. "That's the thing! You don't HAVE to think up anything! We want you to write about your relationship!"

"What?" I asked, deadpanned.

"Yes! That's what everyone wants right now! The air in L.A. and California is just BRIMMING with your names! Alfred and Arthur! A love like no other! It's wonderful!"

I blushed, but shook my head adamantly. "I don't want that. I agreed to interviews and one talk show, but I do not want this to be the highlight of my career."

Nancy rushed forward, face pressing into my personal space. I had never seen her so erratic before. "Arthur, we're talking made for T.V. movie, sponsors, recognition from all over the US! Do you know the New York Times called this morning?"

"The…The…The Times…?"

"Yes!" She nearly flung herself over her desk as she jumped backwards on it. "It's amazing! All we want is just a little book. Something sweet and romantic. Write it from your point of view! Tell us everything! The people want to know! Tell us how you met, how your love blossomed! Just something! But we want a book!"

I looked at my lap. It wasn't terrible to have another book out, but one of my relationship? It was mine and Alfred's. I didn't want others to know how we had come to fall in love. It wouldn't be special.

"I'll have to talk to Alfred about this," I said after a moment.

"I say you do it!" Alfred cried that night over dinner. "You have to! That's so awesome! Oh, my parents called. I told them about the article and I even mailed them a copy. They are so proud of you."

I shook my head, scrapping mashed potatoes onto my plate. "I don't know, love. It's our love. Letting others in would seem…so invasive."

"It's not invasive," he said, handing me the gravy bowl. "Babe, it's not like we're going to tell them every single detail. Just the highlights. Skip a few months. Like the bad ones, you know? But it's _your_ book and you can put in as much or as little as you want. But I don't have a problem with it."

I eyed him ponderingly. "Really?"

He stared back at me, and his smile vanished. "Are you really uncomfortable with the idea, Artie?"

"You know me. I'm not one to tell everyone my secrets. I like to keep things…private."

Alfred stood and hobbled over to me. He took my hand and smiled down at me. "And it will be. Just write this, give the people what they want so they'll leave it at that, and then we'll go on about our happy lives. Okay? Just write up until this very moment if that's what you want."

I smiled up at Alfred, unable to comprehend that this had all come to a head. He was still my beloved. We were four months from our one year, and four months from my one year accident. Six months until Matthew's one year death. And one year from realizing that we were together and loved each other more and more with each passing day no matter how bloody ridiculous and infuriating and childish Alfred could be. How cynical and cold and childish I could be.

So the next morning I sat down at my computer. The whirring edging me on as the minutes ticked away. Alfred was watching a red Sox game in the background, screaming for the umpire to open his eyes and make an actual good call.

I smiled and stretched my fingers out over the keys. Finally, I wrote what came to my head first.

_I had been driving. That's how this all got started. It wasn't raining, the sun didn't reflect off of another car, and my car was in tip top shape. It was simply an accident._

* * *

><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: That's all for this series. I really hope everyone enjoyed the four chapters. I have some good news. My friend, sanguinehero, has supplied me with fan art that I will soon share on my main page and asked that I possibly act on another sex scene for this universe. I agreed and will do a one shot off-shot of the story for the boys to have some fun time.

I will make an announcement about that in my _Rainbow Veins_.

I hope you come back for more of my work! Thank you for all the love and favorites and reviews and just everything.


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